It's been a while since I've seen the Parent's Day episode.
For those of you who don't know: "blonde" refers to a girl with fair hair; "blond" refers to a boy with the same color hair. When I say "blonde," I definitely mean Helga. She is a girl with fair hair. When I say "blond," I definitely mean Arnold. He is a boy with fair hair. There is no mistake; I'm not switching up how I spell it for fun—I am referring to two different people.
The World Ends With You
Heaven
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
-William Shakespeare
The air was sweet and the sun was setting. The wind played in the fields and lifted the leaves, urging them to dance. The temperature was perfect for a day like this. Arnold smiled across his sandwich at the girl who, until recently, he thought had been plaguing his dreams.
Now he realized that she was just visiting.
Helga had changed quite a bit in the four months since her dramatic departure. She wore her hair down instead of the pigtails he recalled; the pink bow that could never quite leave her was tied around her neck as a choker; she was wearing a lightweight, light blue sundress; her lips glistened from the light touch of gloss she had apparently applied. Arnold's smile widened as he took in the little things the blonde did, memorizing them—the way she chewed her pastrami sandwich, the way her dress strap was falling off her shoulder, the smoothness of her legs, and the slow way she shut her eyes when she drank her yahoo.
Arnold didn't think he'd changed much, other than growing taller. He took his red plaid shirt out from under his sweater and wore it on top with faded red skinny jeans. His hair still stuck out in several places and he still wore his hat, even though he had his parents. He smiled more as he remembered the day he'd changed his style and how Helga had groaned, claiming she couldn't call his shirt a kilt anymore. Speaking of…
"Hey, Arnold," Helga spoke, smiling. "What are you thinking about?"
"You," Arnold replied, "And how you used to make fun of my plaid shirt."
"I still say it was a kilt," Helga grinned.
"Whatever you say, Helga."
For a small while, the silence returned and Arnold went back to eating his sandwich. Dream or not, Helga had gone through the trouble of making him—dreaming him?—a picnic, and he didn't want it to go to waste.
"Hey, Arnold," she said again.
"Yes?"
"Remember the Parent's weekend thing? The contest?"
Arnold frowned. "I remember your dad calling me an orphan boy."
Helga's gaze fell. "Y-Yeah…I'm still sorry about that."
Arnold sighed. "It's okay, Helga. I know you were only trying to apologize that day."
"It was a pretty shitty apology."
"I agree," Arnold laughed, "But it was an apology nonetheless."
"Well, I wanted to apologize again and…well, I never got the chance to tell you, but…"
"But…?" the blond prompted.
"When your grandpa almost fell over and I went to make sure he wasn't in the jello, it was really to tell him what my dad's weak points were. I told your grandpa to go for my dad's ankles so your grandpa would win. After what my dad did, he didn't deserve to win."
Arnold stared at her for a while, stunned. He couldn't believe that Helga—who essentially lived for winning—gave up a win for his sake. Meanwhile, the girl in question fidgeted under Arnold's unwavering stare.
"Arnold?" she whispered.
Immediately, said boy sprang forward and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Helga."
Helga sighed in relief and hugged back, "Any time, football head."
Arnold released her and cupped her cheek with his hand, smiling gently; Helga merely stared into Arnold's green eyes, confused.
"A-Arnold?"
"Helga," he replied softly, "I have to tell you something."
"Y-Y-Yes?" Helga's cheeks were getting more and more red.
"I love you. I've always loved you. I want you to come back. Please come back to Hillwood."
Helga frowned, pulling away from Arnold's warm hand. "You know I can't do that."
"Why not?" Arnold scowled.
Helga sighed. "You left me hanging for years without an answer. You never gave me closure. It was unhealthy for me to hang on you like that. I needed to move on."
"But, you know I love you!" Arnold retorted. "You know I do!"
Helga looked at Arnold sadly. "That's not the answer I need to hear, Arnold."
"Goddammit, then what is the answer?" Arnold huffed.
The blonde shook her head and stood. "I can't tell you. I'll see you later. I hear your alarm going off. I'm sorry."
And, indeed, the monotonous "Hey, Arnold" could be heard in the distance and growing louder. Arnold, panicked, looked toward the sound then back at Helga.
"Helga, please. You know how dense I am. I can't figure this out without you. Why isn't my loving you enough?"
Helga smiled sadly at Arnold; she walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek softly, then pulled away, eyes twinkling. "We're not even."
"What?" Arnold tilted his head, confused, but Helga faded to black and instead of her curvy figure, Arnold's eyes opened to see fat, fluffy clouds.
"Fuck!" he growled, throwing the potato alarm across the room and the sheets off himself. He paced around the room angrily, focusing on his breathing in the hopes of calming down.
"Arnold!" a womanly voice called from downstairs. In record time, a woman with short brown hair and an oblong head appeared at the blond's door, wearing a green dress and a pink apron. "Arnold, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Arnold replied testily, "I just had a bad dream."
Stella blinked and frowned, closing the room door behind her. "Was it about Helga again?"
With a sigh, Arnold nodded and fell onto his bed, covering his eyes with an arm. "I don't get what she means by…an answer. I told her I loved her, but she said that isn't enough. She said…we're not even, or something? What the hell does that even mean?"
Stella sat down beside her son, still marveling at how much he'd grown since she'd come back. She sighed, still regretting how she missed out on his childhood, but glad that he opened up to her so much, especially now.
"I'm not sure, honey," Stella regrettably admitted, "Is there something you have more of than she has? Or maybe she means that you aren't even as in…'squared.'"
Arnold moved his arm away from his face and looked at his mother. "Squared?"
"Maybe there's something you owe her?"
"Something I owe her…What could I owe her?" Arnold frowned. "Other than everything. It's because of her that I am who I am today; she's influenced my childhood so much and I never noticed because she always did it behind my back."
The brunette smiled. "Maybe you should think of a way to repay her for all that?"
"How? How do I even begin?"
Stella frowned. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I can't help you there. Maybe your friends would know?"
The blond nodded and climbed out his bed, considerably calmer. "Thanks, mom," he smiled.
Stella patted his shoulder, then pulled the tall boy in for a hug. She was starting to miss the days when he only came up to her waist, but it was time for Arnold to grow up, wasn't it?
She pulled away and smiled sadly. "Anytime."
Helga sighed to herself, pretending to pay attention in class. The teacher droned on about quadratic formulas and, rather than taking notes, Helga was apparently drawing footballs in her notebook. With a small grunt, she turned the page and obligingly wrote down the formulas. Since the day she thought about sinking, Arnold had been much more forward in her dreams. All of a sudden, the boy professed his love and, for three nights straight, begged her to come back to Hillwood. It was an intense shift from the comfortable ambiance that usually occupied her dreams; now, all the awkwardness and tenseness of a relationship hung in the air, but Helga refused to give in.
For years, she had waited for his answer. She couldn't just give in now that he had decided to tell her he loved her. After all, Helga frowned, he knew for a while that's how he felt—as did she. But now she needed to know why Arnold didn't confess that sooner—and if he couldn't figure that out, at the very least, she deserved to know something.
Helga wasn't exactly sure she what she wanted that answer to be, but she was sure that when Arnold would say it, she'd understand.
Still, Helga couldn't shake the feeling that these dreams were more than they seemed. At first, Arnold's cursing had assured her that dream Arnold and real Arnold couldn't be the same person. However, a few days ago, a letter from Phoebe had confirmed that Arnold began cursing like a sailor since she left—apparently, Arnold was always angry nowadays.
Helga smirked. How ironic.
But now, knowing that Arnold was indeed capable of cursing and the vigor in dream-Arnold's voice…it was getting eerie. It was almost as if she and Arnold were meeting at night and Arnold was trying to convince her to come back for real. She could even hear his alarm clock at the end of the dreams.
The teacher continuing talking and Helga, finding herself bored and a little more than confused, sighed and rested her chin on her hand. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them; she switched the hands she was resting her chin on, she constantly moved in her seat—when the bell rang, Helga gave a small thanks to the heavens.
She blinked and looked out the window to the sky. Heaven, huh? Last time she thought of something specific, dream Arnold mentioned that he thought the same thing and he sat at the bottom of a pool, thinking. Which, funny enough, was a thought Helga felt like entertaining.
…Maybe…
No. Helga was a skeptic through and through. Stupid "mystical" crap like that didn't exist.
But…if it did…well, it wouldn't hurt to find out, would it?
Heaven…
Helga quickly rushed out of the room and ran passed the lunch room, choosing instead to go outside and sit beside the tree. She took out her little pink book, intent on trying out her theory. If there was some weird, supernatural link between her and Arnold, then she should hear about it tonight. If not, well, that was just one more thing off her mind. She smiled, opening to a blank page, a soft jazz-like tune playing in her head as she wrote.
I can't get my mind out of those memories.
Now time to tell them, don't take my dreams…
"…"
"Yeah, man," Gerald smiled, "That was some tune you just sang. Are you writing another song?"
"I…"Arnold looked stunned, "I don't know where that came from. But I need to write it down." Hurriedly, the blond sat at Gerald's desk, took out the spare sheet music that he kept in Gerald's room, then wrote down the song and melody. "I don't even know how that song popped into my head. I know I've never heard it before, but it was just stuck in my head!"
Pheobe looked pensive, "Do you think Helga…?"
Arnold finished writing and turned to face the petite Asian girl. "I…I never knew Helga wrote music."
"Probably not the music; you're the one who's good with music," she clarified, "But Helga is a poet. It isn't that hard to translate that into writing song lyrics. And all she really had to do was think of a simple melody that suited it well. And then…"
"And then I think up the music," Arnold finished, looking back at what he'd just written. "It's beautiful."
"What's it called?" Brainy asked from his seat on the beanbag, Lila on his lap.
"It's called," Arnold smiled, "Heaven."
"It is ever so beautiful," Lila whispered. "Just ever so much."
"Like her…" Arnold mumbled.
Gerald sat on the bed next to Phoebe, "It's kind of humbling, actually."
Phoebe looked at Gerald, surprised. "Gerald?"
"I don't know," he replied, "I just…the song makes you reflect on yourself, yeah?"
Arnold nodded, understanding. "Yeah, it does. I'd forgotten that that's what music is supposed to do." He chuckled. "You know, I remember that tango I danced with her back in fourth grade."
Phoebe smiled. "Remember the updated dance you two had in seventh grade?"
Lila giggled. "She was quite the dancer, wasn't she?"
"Yeah." Arnold laughed. "She was. A beautiful dancer, in fact; everything about her was…is beautiful. Guys…what is this answer she wants from me?" Arnold looked at his friends pleadingly. "How can I find my heaven if I can't open the doors?"
They all frowned at their distressed friend. Eventually, Brainy spoke. "She said you guys weren't even? Was there something you had more of than her?"
"I don't think so, short of our parents loving us; but even then, I had none and hers were neglectful—that all changed when my parents came back. We're pretty even there."
"Do you have any ideas, Phoebe? You knew her best, after all," Lila wondered.
The brunette sighed. "All I can think of is her obsessive love for you. In that respect, you may never match her."
Arnold frowned. "What?"
"Don't you remember, man?" Gerald raised a brow. "She wrote volumes of poetry about you; she built you a shrine; she basically worshipped you."
"Does that…should I build her a shrine?"
They all laughed, short of Arnold, who only looked more distressed. "I doubt that's what she wants, though she'll be heavily amused." Brainy replied. "But…is there a way to even out that obsession?
Arnold looked back at the song, "…Helga."
Silence persisted in the room, everyone's eyes unfocused as they thought of what Helga could want so badly, that she'd deny herself Arnold's requited love. Suddenly, Gerald stood up.
"Look, we're not gonna figure it out by sitting around. Maybe you need inspiration. Clearly, something inspired Helga to write that song—maybe even you were her inspiration. Maybe that song can inspire you. Let's go to the jazz club tonight and perform that song."
Arnold stared at the paper a little longer, then smiled at his friend. "Sure. Let's do it."
They arrived at the jazz club, decked in dark clothes. Brainy wore a black turtle neck with dark, midnight blue slacks, and black dress shoes. Gerald was dressed with a dark red dress shirt, black slacks, and black shoes. Lila wore a little black dress with black heels that had multiple little belts on them; on top of her dress, she wore a green cardigan. Phoebe wore a dark blue sweater dress, much like the one she used to wear in grade school, though this dress had a plunging neckline that revealed her cleavage; she wore red heels and a red scarf. Arnold walked in and motioned to the others that he was heading to the bathroom, if only to glance at himself. He hoped he looked good—it was, after all, the outfit Helga loved best.
He stared at his other self in the mirror, slightly nervous. Arnold wore a loose, long sleeve white shirt with a black vest on top; he paired those with black slacks and black oxfords. He even smoothed his hair back, looking more regal than he usually did. Eventually, he smiled, and joined his friends near the stage again.
"You guys sure you're okay with this?" he asked.
"For the last time, man," Gerald rolled his eyes, "yes. We got this."
"Hey there, all you cool cats; it's time to listen to some smooth jazz. Here's a song written by one of our own—he says the girl he loves wrote, and inspired, this song. Give a warm welcome to Shortman and his gang."
The apathetic-seeming crowed snapped their fingers as the five teenagers assembled their instruments. Arnold himself stood by the piano and placed the mic directly before him. He looked out into the crowd and imagined Helga sitting there, smiling at him. He smiled back at his mirage.
"Helga," he whispered, unheeding that the mic could pick up his voice. "I wish you could hear this."
Some members of the audience cooed at his devotion, but otherwise, stayed silent.
Gerald counted them in, then began hitting the drums just as Arnold began playing the piano. Softly, almost as it wasn't there, Phoebe began to play a steadily rising violin, Lila following suit, but playing the slightly higher notes. Brainy strummed his bass guitar and, finally, though Arnold felt someone with a more feminine voice ought to, Arnold began to sing.
"I can't get my mind out of those memories.
Now time to tell them, don't take my dreams.
Still, music keeps on turning me from the words that hurt my soul…
Removing doubts from my mind.
Those long days passing by from that door,
Like late summer, they slowly fade away.
Finding ways through that favorite tune,
Played all day, with my eyes closed.
Those long days passing by from that door,
Like late summer, they slowly fade away.
Finding ways through that favorite tune,
Filling me with those sounds."
Arnold played the piano soulfully, wishing Helga could hear how beautiful her song was. Faintly, Arnold thought he could hear her singing.
Helga smiled softly, staring at the starry sky. For some reason, she felt as if the entire musical score for the song she'd written earlier had been completed and she could hear it in her head. With a shrug, she began to sing.
"I can't remember the smile that you gave to me,
I have no way to tell you, 'Don't walk away.'
Still sorrow keeps on tying me, but my soul wants to get freed.
Let my heart loose from my chain.
Those long days passing by from that door,
Like frail snow, they slowly disappear.
Finding ways through the favorite vox,
Cocoon my in floating bliss."
Arnold smiled, hearing Helga sing in his mind. He knew, then, that she was indeed singing this song along with them. That gave him some comfort as he continued to sing, wishing she was beside him instead of merely in his thoughts.
"Those long days passing by from that door,
Like frail snow, they slowly disappear.
Finding ways through the favorite friends,
Filling me with warm embrace.
Those long days passing by from that door,
Like late summer, they slowly fade away.
Finding ways through that favorite tune,
Played all day with my eyes closed.
Those long days passing by from that door,
Like late summer, they slowly fade away.
Finding ways through that favorite tune,
Filling me with those sounds."
As the band continued to play out the rest of the song, the crowd forgot the general rule and stood, applauding the five teens. Finally, the song ended they climbed off the stage, the occasional customer patting them on the back for a job well done.
"Well?" Gerald asked once they sat at the table. "Inspired yet?"
Arnold slowly nodded. "I think so. It was never whether or not I loved her…"
Helga stared at the heavens as she finished her song. She smiled warmly, glad Arnold was able to make such a beautiful song with her lyrics. She shook her head and sighed, standing; she dusted off her skirt and walked out of the park towards her home. Helga stalled for another moment and stared back up at the stars.
"Arnold…I'm glad you love me, but it was never whether or not you loved me. I always knew that. It was always what I actually meant to you. You're my everything—you're my definition. Without you, there is no Helga. It simply can't be done. But without Helga, what is Arnold? Who are you, Arnold Shortman, when you don't have me in your life?"
"Who am I?" Arnold asked himself again, "If I don't have Helga…if she was never there…who would I have been? Who am I now?"
The others looked at their friend worriedly.
"Y-You're Arnold. Same ol' Arnold," Gerald replied, "Same kid who likes to help everyone and look on the Brightside."
"Y-Yeah," Brainy nodded. "You're the kid who wants us to come together 'cause you know we can do it."
"You're the kid who gives great advice," Lila added.
"You're Arnold Shortman," Phoebe said, though she didn't sound as sure as the others.
"Am I?" Arnold muttered. "If it weren't for Helga, who knows what would've happened? I would've never felt the need to help others if I hadn't have found her that day out in the rain in preschool. I never would've believed in Christmas miracles if she hadn't have given up her Nancy Spamoni boots for me. I never would've appreciated Thanksgiving if she hadn't found me that day and reminded me about Simmons' Thanksgiving. I never would've found my parents if she hadn't risked her life for me. So…honestly, guys…who am I without Helga G. Pataki?"
"…Who are you, Arnold Shortman?"
The song is called "Heaven" by Shoji Meguro from the Never More: Reincarnation album.