The Pink Ribbon That He Untied
a Hey Arnold fanfic by Pyrex Shards
pre-read by Lord Malachite
A/N: I made three edits to remove a particular phrase that was confusing people. It was my own lack of oversight. Sorry 'bout that.
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO
And then you know there comes a time
You need her more than anything
You may believe yours are the wounds
That only she can heal
Then everything will turn around
And she becomes so serious
What she chose to offer you
Was all that you could have
- Duncan Sheik "She Runs Away"
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO
"Please. Arnold. You're confused. Just leave me alone. I just want to be alone."
"H is for the head I'd like to punt."
"Can you even imagine what I was trying to say in that poem. Are you that dense Arnoldo?!"
"E is for every time I see the little runt."
"These poems. They're my heart. On these pages. Every single one of them. I've dedicated these things to you. And you think that they're funny."
"L is longing for our, first, kiss."
"Just get out. It was a mistake to read that poem. What gives you the right to laugh at my heart?"
"G is for how good that longing is."
"Each morn, I see you bend to drink, From love's own crystal pool."
"And A. is... for Arnold."
"Please, tell me what you're thinking."
"Don't stop [making out with me]."
"Doi."
"I'm allergic to strawberries."
"Or if, say, I kissed you right now..."
"Anaphylaxis. I could die."
"Sometimes I wonder if I should just try it once. Eat a strawberry without having to fear what would happen to me. Then all I'd have to do is use this pen while someone called for an ambulance."
"I'm just kidding Arnoldo."
"Would you, like to go with me to a movie, Friday night?"
"I always swore to you that I would never hurt you."
"Can we?"
"Listen pal! Helga Pataki answers to no one but herself. And I especially don't have to answer to football headed nimrods who don't mind their own business! Ya got that football head!"
"How do you feel about the idea of me having a shrine and poetry all dedicated to you?"
"Because I'm madly, madly in love with you."
"I'm still sorry for the bruises Arnoldo. I can't apologize enough."
"I… Um.... I know about the fire escape and the window to your room. I've been up there before, remember?"
"Do you realize how much control you have over me?"
"Do you realize what you've just done?! I can't let people see me like this!"
"You don't understand what I meant by that football head."
"Are you asking Helga? Or are you asking Cecile?"
"Need I remind you that Bob calls you 'Orphan Boy?"
"Hey. Don't. You never deserved that. I've never called you that and I don't intend to start. Okay?"
"If you could prove your tarnish to me then you'd only shine even more brilliantly in my eyes. I've spent years of my life on you, Arnold."
"If all you want to do is help then stay away from me. I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore. I don't want this, this, whatever you think this relationship is!"
"Just get out. It was a mistake to read that poem. How could you ever understand..."
"What part? The movie or where you come into my room, ravage me, and then slam my poetry?"
"Get out of my room."
His walk home from Helga's house was painful. It was like Jesus being forced to carry the cross, except Jesus was a savior. Arnold just felt of himself as a helpless fool. He had only made it half way when he realized that Helga's newly intoxicating scent still permeated his clothing and his hair. Heck, it was penetrating his skin so deep that he could swear the chill he felt through his veins was due to the lack of her warmth. He could taste Helga on his lips and his teeth. He could still feel her tongue's almost crushing pressure on his.
When he got home, his grandfather was out on the couch, snoring softly but completely oblivious to Arnold's entrance. His grandmother was probably already in bed, he surmised. He silently closed the door, locked it, and tiptoed up to the second-floor bathroom, where he stared at himself in the mirror.
His brain seemed as if it had stuck in one gear, and that lone gear had teeth missing, so it ground and rattled. It gave him fits of fantasy and guilt, lust and shame. Sexually charged images of Helga clad in nothing but pink undergarments and her bow tied around her neck, vied with romantic images of Helga with Arnold's head in her lap and his hat perched atop her head; her fingers running gently through his unruly hair, tracing hearts in his scalp as she smiled lovingly at him.
He managed to brush his teeth, then climb the ladder to his room, where he laid in bed. He thought of Helga's poetry and how unbearably cute it was, but at the same time, how deep. Helga was a poetess, a goddess of poetry, and he felt as if, even though she had told him cryptically how her poetic self only existed so that she could profess her love for him, that he had absolutely no claim to any of her poetry. He didn't deserve to hear any of it.
But... That private poetry reading had made Helga even more attractive in Arnold's eyes. Previously he couldn't put Helga and 'attractive' in the same sentence. Over the course of a week Arnold had discovered that in his mind, that pearl inside of the shell had become the most beautiful feminine creature he had ever seen.
It wasn't just her mind, and the incredible, intelligent, poetic thoughts that were so obviously there, hidden from the world. When Helga took her sweater off and let Arnold explore her in a new way, to discover a seductively awkward physical side to her that somehow he knew she would only ever let him experience, and no one else, that had brought every single element of his addled teenage-male mind to bear on the subject of Helga G. Pataki.
With her intelligent sarcasm, her witty jokes, and her amazing but tortured poetry, coupled with the unbelievably fantastic way she felt in his arms, it all made him feel like he was on cloud nine, like a koala bear had crapped a rainbow in his brain, like his brain was eggs in a frying pan from that ancient anti-drug commercial.
They had gone so far. She really had opened up to him. Then he had to go and laugh, when that sweet and addicting girl was at her most vulnerable, revealing her passion for him.
He slowly accumulated all of these things in his mind as his eyes became heavy. The war going on in his head slowly snuffed out his consciousness of his own surroundings. There was one question in is mind that he refused to acknowledge as sleep took hold... Was he falling in love?
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO
It was Saturday, around nine o'clock when his Grandfather announced that they really were going to fix the bottom ladder on the fire escape. So Arnold, true to his word, helped his Grandpa Phil fix the ladder, cutting off access to his room from the alleyway. His first thought upon completion of the task was, how was Helga going get to his room now? Could she jump high enough to grab the bottom rung of the ladder, now out of reach from the ground?
Why was that his first thought?
Doi! He thought, chastising himself as he sat on the couch in the common area of sunset arms, flipping through the channels on the TV, trying to slay an unnerving fit of boredom that fishing shows and that annoying live-action Power Rangers Ninja Storm Force Zero, whatever, couldn't stem. Everything and anything made him think of Helga. When he landed on a dead TV channel, he saw Helga in the chaotic junk on the television screen. When he heard footsteps upstairs he imagined Helga was up there making the noise.
The thing that sucked the most was, while he had come to the conclusion early on that Helga should be left alone on what was turning out to be a beautiful Saturday morning, he wanted a knock on the door. He wanted to open that door to Helga, with her bow out of her hair, like the Saturday previous. He looked at the remote of the TV, wishing there was some sort of cosmic reset button, or a way to rewind time and not laugh whenever Helga finished her poem.
But alas, he'd probably just find some other way to screw up. He sighed, then turned the TV off, sat the remote on the coffee table, and brought his legs up to lay on the couch, staring up at the plain white, but antiquated ceiling. If only life could be simple...
Arnold had come to understand simplicity and its amazing power to solve things. Advice wasn't hard to give people. Typically all he did was look for the simple answer. If someone had lied to another person and felt guilty about it, the simplest way out was to tell that someone to fess up to the person they had lied to. But, with Helga...
Complexity and Helga were synonymous. If simplicity won out over complexity, then why couldn't he solve Helga?
Arnold grabbed the pillow that his head rested on, pulled it out from under him, and then hugged it to his chest. The old pillow gave up its dust to Arnold's nostrils, and he wrinkled his nose. His wandering mind, induced by the old pillow he hugged tightly to his chest, elicited images of the dream he had the night before.
In his dream he was an infant in his mother's arms. He felt peaceful and happy. He didn't know if this was some old memory buried deep within his subconscious because people weren't supposed to remember that far back. But it was a familiar feeling, along with the vague memories of his parents, that he augmented with old pictures of their life together, some with Arnold, some just candid pictures that they took of each other.
But, in his dream, his mother had handed him to Helga. Not just any Helga. This Helga had brown hair, just like his Mother, Stella. Then Helga had sat him down on a blanket, he guessed in Tina Park, and walked away from him, with a sad expression on her face. He then remembered crawling, not to his mother, but towards Helga, holding out his hand desperately at her fading form that he could never reach. Finally Helga had turned to him and smiled, but then he woke up.
He shook his head slightly and wrinkled his nose again at the dust still wafting from the pillow he clutched to him. He had to switch his mind onto something else. He had to forget about Helga for at least today. He could approach the subject on Sunday with a fresh mind, away from the confusion he felt. Perhaps he'd go outside and beat the pillow out. Yeah, get his mind off of Helga. He stood up and walked towards the door with pillow in hand.
Opening the door revealed that the Saturday had improved exponentially since he'd been outside to help with the fire escape. The sun was overhead but there were enough clouds in the sky to dampen its rays. There were minimal cars on the street. Perhaps he'd beat the ever living dust out of the pillow, walk in, call Gerald for a little one-on-one basketball until lunch. Maybe then he could tap Gerald for other ideas on how to spend a Saturday trying to forget about Helga.
He stood at the base of the stoop, then grasped the pillow in one fist and held it out, swinging against an open palm. He could hear the pillow's meager stuffing shuffle around, but instead of a satisfying cloud of dust, little invisible particles of annoyance crept up his nose. And then he sneezed, repeatedly.
"Arnold?" He heard from behind him as he brought a finger up to his nose and tried breathing out of his mouth. He thought idly that the pillow was probably worse for wear and that it should be replaced. But he couldn't deny the sound of Phoebe Heyerdahl's voice as she stood behind him.
He let the pillow fall to his side as he turned around.
Phoebe looked at Arnold in the eyes with a determined brow. Then Arnold felt a sting on his face at the sudden blow from Phoebe's open palm hitting him square on the cheek. It was accompanied by the sound of a slap that he swore he could hear echoing off of every single step on the stoop. On instinct he brought his hand up to favor his reddened cheek. Arnold averted his eyes towards the street. "Hey Phoebe." He mumbled.
Phoebe didn't say anything to him. She just stood there. Arnold felt as if she were towering over him despite the height advantage that he had gained over the petite Asian-American girl from Kentucky.
"Damn you." She said to him, her voice low but her tone strict.
Arnold finally got the courage to look at Phoebe. But he couldn't say anything. He kept his hand to his cheek. His deduction was simple. Phoebe was friends with Helga, which pretty much meant that by now Phoebe knew exactly what had happened, or had a good idea. So he watched Phoebe's face intently. Her brown, inquisitive eyes drilled into his, magnified by black-squared glasses that sat across the bridge of her nose but were altogether an inseparable part of her face.
Phoebe broke eye contact and looked at Sunset Arms. "I just spent an hour on the phone consoling Helga. She asked me if she should give up ice cream..."
"I... I'm afraid I don't understand."
"You're ice cream, Arnold. You've been that code word since the fourth grade. What have you done to her?" Phoebe looked at Arnold again. "She's never asked anything like that ever before."
"Last night I, sort of, laughed at something in one of her poems that I thought was cute. Then she got mad at me."
"You laughed at one of her poems." Phoebe whispered, shocked.
"I asked her why she was upset, but all she did was shove the poetry book into me and then tell me that I laughed at her heart."
"Probably because you did?"
Arnold sighed, lifted his head up and ran a frustrated hand through is hair. "It was cute! I... Damn it. I laughed not out of malice, Phoebe. But Helga took it the wrong way and kicked me out. Why was it such a big deal to her that I not laugh at this little, minute piece of a poem?"
"It's the symbolism of a poet's soul, Arnold. I don't claim to be an expert, but just because something like that is cute doesn't mean you should make light of it. This was after you made out with the poet who penned said poem, correct?"
Arnold's face blushed a deep crimson. He maneuvered himself to sit down on the stoop as he replayed the more amorous moments of his date with Helga in his mind. "She told you that too, didn't she."
"In her own way. I picked up on it."
Arnold shook his head. "Look... This, is between Helga and myself."
"Sorry, I'm involved too. Helga is like a sister to me and I won't let you hurt her. Understand?" Phoebe hunched down in front of Arnold, locking his eyes in hers. "So if you have any feelings for Helga, then you'll go right over there now and tell her that you're sorry for hurting her like you did! Say you're sorry before it's too late and you lose each other for good."
"But how can I when I'm not sure of anything?!" He growled, frustrated. "Look Phoebe, I'm not sure of my feelings for Helga. I'm so confused right now I can't think straight! Why can't this just be simple, why does Helga have to make it all complex!? I've wanted to help her and she kicked me away."
But Phoebe, persisted, this time she pressed a finger painfully into Arnold's chest, causing the boy to flinch. "Don't you dare pin any of this on Helga because she never deserved it! You never, ever, make out with a girl who loves you when you have no idea how you really feel about her! That was a stupid move!"
"All I wanted to do was help her get out of her shell!" Arnold batted Phoebe's hand away and stood up. Phoebe followed but continued to stand her ground in front of him. But as he stared Phoebe down, partly in shame at the display he was putting on, and partly because he could see real pain in the girls Almond eyes, Phoebe backed away.
"God Arnold. Don't you get it?" Phoebe stressed, and Arnold looked down at the cement between them. "Don't you understand that you've helped her already! She told me what you did for her Arnold. Little kids, they're not supposed to wander the streets to preschool by themselves. Kid's aren't supposed to wonder why their parents don't love them. Little kids aren't supposed to feel cold and alone for days on end, with not a single soul showing them any concern."
Arnold looked up at Phoebe, "But I..."
"I'm not finished!" Phoebe stopped Arnold's rebuttal with a stern but tear-filled look. She breathed and continued. "Helga was a little girl who epitomized neglect, wondering why her parents didn't care, who suffered under the pain of a aching little heart, as she sat at home crying for her mom to help her when that same mother was passed out drunk. Yes Arnold, that happened to Helga. And you. And you just held an umbrella over her head and complimented something about her. You stole her away from all of that by simply being there at the darkest hour of her life, when her soul was on the verge of death."
"No that's not... Phoebe, I tried to help her, but she pushed me away even then."
"You stupid, Football Head. Regardless of what you think happened, you had already saved her when you said hello. Don't you see it from her perspective? She doesn't want your help. She wants you. All she wants is your love. But if you don't feel the same way about her, then you don't deserve her love in return. Perhaps she should just forget about you and move on."
Phoebe stepped back and turned around, her shoulders shaking while Arnold simply looked on, his stare blank. The concepts of what love is, the idea he had about the ideal Helga, the dream he had, Helga's smile, the way she looked after he laughed at her poem. That scar on her abdomen, when he first saw it. They all vied for the attention in his mind. And he felt guilt, unbearable guilt, for what he had done to the person whom he was truly starting to love, when he was brave enough to admit it.
Helga was neglected and ignored by her family. Arnold was an orphan. It was a connection they had. He could feel it in his heart. He felt it when he cupped Helga's cheeks in his hands and stared in those unfathomable blue eyes of hers. He felt it when he kissed her, and when she read him that poem that, despite its contents, was in fact dedicated to, and about, him. He even felt it whenever she kicked the back of his chair in class, for she wouldn't do that if she didn't have feelings for him. She would have beaten him up years ago to steal his lunch money, not confess her love for him on the rooftop of a huge corporation. Apart they were alone, but together they were awkward, and perhaps that's what counted at that point. It was something they had that no one but Arnold's own naivety could threaten, he realized as he closed his eyes and stilled his breath for what he was about to say.
"I'm in love with her, Phoebe." Arnold finally admitted.
He didn't see the small smile form on Phoebe's lips when she nodded. "Then I've said my part. Now it's up to you to mend the damage you caused..."
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO
It took Arnold all of Saturday night, through Sunday, to get up the courage to speak with Helga. He replayed his plan over and over, but by then he had to go to bed. He had wished, somehow, that Helga would have made it easy on him by showing up at Sunset Arms. But that was just a fantasy that didn't pan out, as he predicted glumly.
He sat on the bus, first seat from the back, as more students got on. It was a typical Monday morning for any school kid. His mind was awash with conflicting ideas about what to do about Helga. His thoughts were even more frantic because he didn't have very much time now before classes started, nor did he have any perfect opportunities. Note passing was too cold, whispering it could be counter productive if someone overheard. He looked around. Gerald had already boarded the bus and was sitting beside him, not saying anything, just listening to tunes on his CD-player with his eyes closed.
Then they stopped at the intersection where Helga would board the bus, of course from his angle he could already see her as she walked to the bus and entered. His gaze followed her up the steps to the center aisle, where she walked the length of the bus. She had a bow in her hair, red this time, almost out of place in her blonde hair. It clashed with her pink shirt, jacket, and blue-jeans, but it allowed her slightly blood-shot blue eyes to stand out as they peered painfully into Arnold's soul. He didn't wince, he didn't frown, he didn't let his face contort into any detectable emotion as he followed her, awaiting judgment to show in her eyes. But he got none until she stopped in the aisle, right beside Gerald, and looked down at him.
"Good morning Football Head." She hissed, then gave him a scowl.
"I'm sorry Helga." He blurted out.
Her eyes widened at his rather public apology, and she glanced around, but found that none of the students seemed to notice, she turned back to him. "When we get to school, stay as far away from me as possible, Arnoldo."
Gerald opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Then why are your invading our personal space?."
Helga looked down at Gerald and crossed her arms. "Back to your rap music, tall hair boy."
To which Gerald simply laughed, flipped her off, and then closed his eyes, letting his head bob to the music in his headphones.
Arnold closed his eyes and looked away while Helga stepped to the very back row and sat down, immediately behind Arnold. It only took a few moments before Arnold felt the first kick against the back seat. It was light enough to where only he could feel it, but it still traveled up his spine.
He wanted to admonish her out of instinct, but what good would that serve. This was just Helga trying to keep his attention distracted, and only on her, even in public.
Wait...
If she was kicking the back of his seat then that meant... Even though he could see the hurt in her eyes just then, before she insulted Gerald, received a courtesy bird, then sat down, she still kicked the back of his seat. He smiled a little. He had damaged their relationship, but she still had it in for him. It was worth something, worth anything at this point, to know that even after Friday night she might still have some kind of feelings for him absent of love.
Perhaps, it could even still be love. There had to have been some way to find out, and quick. Some way to show her in his own way that he cared. He couldn't say what he wanted to say in such a public setting, but there had to be some way to get a signal to her, somehow. Something had to work. He turned around to look at her.
She shrugged, scowled, and hissed "what?!" to him.
Arnold blurted out "nothing Helga" and then turned around. The kicking started again shortly after. A note was still out of the question, he couldn't write anything of the appropriate length in the amount of time between the last few stops and the school. He couldn't turn around and talk, Gerald was too close. Indian smoke signals were most definitely out.
He turned to continue looking out the window. When Helga kicked the back of his seat again he finally sighed in annoyance and looked down at the space between his leg and the side of the bus, where his eyes immediately transfixed on a small crevice that formed where the bottom cushion met the seat-back. He couldn't see the floorboard of the back row through the crevice, but it was a wide enough crevice to fit a hand through, and he could see light.
This had to work, it was his only option now. He was desperate, and when he saw Helga get on the bus he wanted to hug her right then and there, to re-initiate some form of physical contact with her, be-it just a simple show of affection.
Well, this was a show of affection, and it was covert, perhaps Helga would be receptive to it. He had to try. Slowly, he pushed his fist through the small crevice while he stared intently at the world of brownstones that rushed past them. It wasn't a tight fit, but he could just barely manage. Helga kicked the back of the seat again and it shifted the seat cushions, rubbing the skin on his hand against the textured metal of the bus. He flinched, but continued on. Finally the widest portion of his fist broke through, letting his fist open up as the cool air coming up from the floorboard tickled his palm.
Immediately the kicking stopped. He wondered what was on her mind, did she see his hand? He kept his hand as still as possible, with his fingers extended. Seconds became minutes and the world outside seemed to slow down. He focused all his attention on his hand and the rest of his body seemed to go numb in response.
Then he felt her fingertips press lightly against his fingers. He smiled, a giddy feeling washed over him. Nothing was forgiven yet but if anything, this was a chance, he was trying to tell her that he cared. In a secret way that he had hoped she would be receptive to.
The fingertips rested against his for a few moments, before tracing down the length of his fingers then settling on his open palm. He heard movement behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Helga move to stare out the window in the same way he was. The back of the bus was empty save for her, but he could feel the girl's pink jacket loosen around her hand and his, as she laced Arnold's fingers between hers, and held them there with slightly less than crushing pressure.
They stayed like that all the way to the school, watching the scenery go by.
OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Author's Corner
This isn't the end, but a half-way mark. Well, perhaps a little under half-way. I'm aiming for 10-15 chapters with this story, so there are still quite a few chapters left.
I do apologize for the length of time it took to get chapter six out. Chapter five took a lot out of me. That and a massive re-organization at work had me mentally unprepared for what I needed to do with this chapter. Finally the ideas I had became cohesive with the help of a few people who really seem to care about what I'm trying to say in this fanfic. I'm not knocking all you wonderful reviewers out there, and I truly appreciate each and every single review I get. If I forget to reply to a review, please do let me know about it over PM, I'd appreciate it because I want to respond to everyone.
Thanks for reading, and once again, please review!