Eppp…sorry peoples. It took me a while to post this chapter because I had for the longest time trouble with developing parts of it (the 'part' should be obvious after reading this). I promise to post another chapter this week to make up for being so late! Anyway, enjoy!
The incident with the mugger had led Helga to bonding with her dad as he taught her kickboxing. It was perhaps the one thing that they could share in common with one another where her dad actually managed to spend time with her. It not only helped her channel her aggression but also to tone up from what she was increasing finding a soft, womanly figure in place of her tomboyish preteen body. She didn't want to be rescued by anyone, especially a guy like Brainy.
Even though Helga didn't see Brainy anymore after that incident, it didn't mean that he was completely free from her life. In sophomore year he became part of her life again- she just didn't realize it.
Helga walked through the doors of her new high school, P.S. 120, walked through the now familiar hallways, said hello to familiar faces and scowled meanly at some old rivals. Life was good, her schoolwork was in top form and she still had her best friend Phoebe with her. The only thing lacking was…
The thought was cut by the arrival of her best friend.
A greeting was at the tip of her tongue when her Asian friend excitedly thrust in front of her nose a sheet of paper.
"Okay Pheebs, what is this? Cuz if it's another concert for some shrill pop singer, then the answer is no."
"Oh, Helga, you know that's old news. I got someone else to go with me." At this she blushed, but continued. "Anyway, this isn't about me, it's for you! There's a poetry contest going on and-"
"Don't care." Helga interrupted crumpling up the sheet of paper and tossing it behind her.
Phoebe whined at her pig-tailed friend as she retrieved the sheet once again, this time reading aloud the details.
Helga couldn't say that she paid attention to any of the details of what Phoebe was saying, only that she was maybe a bit too aware of the fact that maybe Phoebe was trying to take her mind off a certain SOMEONE by overloading her with tons of activities.
"Alright, alright! Criminy, Pheebs! If I wasn't such a good person…" Helga tore the sheet of paper out of Phoebe's hands and stuffed it into her bag. "Now what do ya have to say about your date with Tall Hair Boy?"
The two walked on to class, Helga teasing her Japanese friend about her date with Arnold's friend and her flustered friend in turn making up excuses to hide her embarrassment.
As the two friends sat down in their English Honors class, Mr. Hardy was passing out the Powerpoint slides of the day. They were learning about the development of the English language over time, and Helga knew that she didn't need to pay attention to the boring subject so long as Phoebe took good notes.
Helga opened up her notebook, pretending to take notes, and thought of a poem that she could write for the contest. Most poems that she had written in the past were about Arnold, but since renouncing her love for him (silently to herself, of course, not many people were aware of the crush in the first place) she had found a severe lack of inspiration for anything remotely satisfactory to herself.
She flipped back a couple of pages and skimmed her old poems, wondering if maybe it would just be better to submit an old poem rather than make a new one, when a thought occurred to her. Her last journal entry into her diary had been slightly less than a year ago, back in the summer of her freshman year.
'Dear Diary,' she had written. She looked at that for a minute, then scratching out that just read on frankly, 'I can't help but feel like a different person every time I think of him: Stoic bully, oxymoronic romantic, sarcastic friend, the girl who's just mean for no apparent reason...they're all different sides of me, but which one is the real me? Because this vacated feeling, that beautifully deadly heart of this conflict between mixed identities-love- causes me much pain, whether it be there sitting warmly in my heart or crushed in the palm of someone else's hand. It might not be worth the lifetime of shame to even consider love as a subject for inspiration. With love comes an opportunity for rejection, a fear that controls a person's life from those first tingling sensations, the hearting racing palpitations, and the mind numbing desperations such that they force a person to live a lie, or shied away from the truth. Here's the real question: Ask anyone if what I felt for Arnold in the past was true love, or if it was but a fantasy, one that was so skewed from the truth that this constant pain, one that is felt upon my very soul at this very moment, one that is self-inflicted, how might they describe it? Perhaps calling it a masochistic and suicidal pain is a better description of those feelings felt by the idiots crazy enough to fall victim to love, especially one that is hell bent upon a heavenly dream, a hopeless hope, an unfulfilling happy ending. Could anyone else understand that, to stand on the brink of a romance, held back by the unknowns, unable to decide, to die by fire or by ice, which way to go? One could stay in purgatory forever, never fully satisfied yet at the same time, dying because of the unrealized dream, that to give up is to die, and to die is to give up. Can't there be any chance, just maybe that I'd be able to find the happiness I long for with-."
Helga stopped reading. She dared not think his name. Seeing it in writing would only bring back too readily the obsession she had felt in her younger years over Arnold. Her feelings for that doofus were just so confusing and painful too think about. She couldn't tell if she still loved him, ever loved him, was over him, or just liked him as a friend. It seemed like she'd been IN LOVE with him ever since Preschool, but who knows what kids' think? If any other person had shown an act of kindness to her on the first day of Preschool for her, wouldn't she say stupid stuff like "I love you, and when I grow up I'm gonna marry you"?
Phoebe paused in her note taking to glance over at Helga. It seemed like as soon as they got to class that the girl remained concentrated on writing in her notebook. Phoebe knew from experience that whenever Helga took out her pink notebook, it wasn't for writing notes, but much more personal attributes.
It's been a long friendship, and even Phoebe couldn't say that her best friend was the most considerate of friends, she just knew that in her heart that Helga was a kind, gentle, and loving person who'd proven on more than one occasion to be a loyal friend. Phoebe knew most of Helga's secrets, and those she'd take to the grave with her. At times though, she thought that maybe she should do something to help her friend find peace with her near life-long secret. Phoebe knew that there were other people that cared for her friend just as much as she did, and that anything or anybody to get her mind off of Arnold was a good thing.
In any case, Phoebe could tell that her friend was having issues, more than she could deal with on her own. It seemed that even though she'd had so much experience with socializing with other people, she remained fixated on just one person; it had gotten to a point where Helga was in denial of her own feelings. She was convinced that her love for Arnold was much too strong for her to overcome. She was like the living undead, trapped in an addiction and scared of the unknown (Helga must've rubbed off on her; Phoebe had watched enough horror films with Helga to know when Helga acted like a zombie).
The bell rang ending first hour. Phoebe turned to Helga, watched Helga idly stare off into space still deep in thought, and knew that face. It was her "I've got Arnold on my mind and can't be bothered to focus on anything else" face, the one that she's probably seen at least a hundred times.
Phoebe thought about the countless times she had tried to shake Helga out of her dreamlike state, but knew that it would be pointless. Sometimes the only thing a best friend can do when a friend's upset is he there for them when they feel ready to talk. Obviously, Helga needed some time to think about whatever was bothering her before she'd talk to Phoebe, but by then she'd have made up her mind and her best friend would be there to support her decision.
After school, Helga continued to ruminate on what to write, taking up vast amounts of her time just to come up with subject matter. She didn't want to think that the only poems she could write were mushy romantic stuff, so she racked her mind constantly for something to inspire her. Once, she just looked outside and wrote about the stuff she saw out there.
"Darkness"
By H.P. (like HELL would she put her name on something that would be publicly known)
Absent is the vibrant light
The vacant area of
but shades of grey
Where Silence is heard
The senses stifled
Nothing but gray
Emptiness
Sadness
Nothingness
A Blur of Everything
Such that nothing can be seen
Blind
Helga tore the page out and crumbled it. It sounded so bad! The fact that out of all the things outside that she could have written on, the only thing she decided to write was the vague concept of it getting darker was saddening. The whole poem just sounded so cheesy and depressing.
Helga huffed in frustration, blowing her bangs up in a show of irritation. She was intelligent, she could write on a whole spectrum of topics- the methodology of Edward Hopper's artwork, themes within George Orwell's political literature, the current state of the economy, the likelihood of there being intelligent life forms on distant planets and the criteria needed to colonize another Earth-like surrogate- she was even smart enough to make an essay written by Harold on the "Proper Techniques of Eating Ice Cream" sound like a complete breakthrough in culinary science through a comprehensive analysis, using liberal
amounts of metaphors, parallelism, and antithesis (though studying with Phoebe does help with her creative genius, of course).
It would just be better to call Pheebs and ask for her opinion. Helga hesitated, but logged onto her computer instead.
Helgoth: Sup, Pheebs.
RonnieNumberOneFan: Helga? What's up? You usually don't email me.
Helga knew she'd say that. The truth was that she didn't want Phoebe to know how down she was right now, and her voice would be a dead giveaway. From there it would only be a pity fest, and who wanted that?
Helgoth: I guess I felt tired of talking.
RonnieNumberOneFan: You haven't talked all day! It looked like you were too busy thinking about something.
Helgoth: Yeah, well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see it's about that poetry contest. I don't know what to write! I tried writing something, but it sounded so depressing and stupid.
RonnieNumberOneFan: What was it about?
Helgoth: Darkness.
RonnieNumberOneFan: That's not so bad, but I think something more….personal and tangible would be easier for you.
Helgoth: I've been trying! But I can't help but, y'know, get stuck on that one subject….the one that we almost never speak of out loud?
RonnieNumberOneFan: Well Helga, it looks like you just shouldn't fight it. Many authors write based on their own life experiences and the events that affect them. Edgar Allan Poe wrote many works possibly inspired by the death of the women in his life, especially his wife.
Helgoth: Wow, Pheebs. That's cheery. All I need is to drown my sorrows in some alcohol and I'll be able to write an instant classic.
RonnieNumberOneFan: That's not what I meant, Helga.
Helgoth: I know, I know….I guess I really should just… write from the heart then?
RonnieNumberOneFan: Yup, you never know what'll happen until you try.
Helgoth: This isn't gonna be one of those lectures about being true to myself?
RonnieNumberOneFan: If you already know the moral lesson, then there's no point in telling it.
Helgoth: Aww, and I was so sure you were gonna tell one of those Aesop fables introduced to the Japanese in the Tokugawa period.
RonnieNumberOneFan: No! I would've just quoted some Confucius, but yes, now that you mention it, I did get a book of fables from my mother one Christmas when we were in elementary school. I could look up some stories if you want….
Helgoth: No! I get it, Pheebs….write something meaningful and heartfelt yadda yadda. Shesh.
Helga laughed. Her friend sure knew how to make her feel better about herself.
Helgoth: I guess that's all I needed to ask you. I'll see ya tomorrow, okay?
RonnieNumberOneFan: 'Kay, Good luck on the poem!
Helga signed off and turned her attention back to her notebook. "This better be worth some money…"
The next day Helga wasted no time in turning in her poem about Arnold. It wasn't all that great, she had to admit, but at least it was something.
Perhaps a week went by when the results of the contest came in.
Phoebe walked into homeroom with a frown on her face. In her hand was the school newspaper, currently containing the results of the contest.
"I'm sorry, Helga, but you didn't win."
"That could only be expected, Pheebs, it wasn't all that great to begin with."
"Well, not only that but the review they left in the newspaper about the contest…" Phoebe trailed off looking nervous. With eyebrow raised, Helga braced herself as she swiped the paper out of her friend's hand.
" 'It was a close call, but the poetic talent of who can only be assumed someone under the penname of H.P.- Harry Potter obviously- was elegant in it's design, yet not as poignant nor keen in it's own perceptions of the concept they had call love. Which when considering the plotline of the J.K. Rowling's series, makes sense, because Harry really should've been with Hermione, not that skank Ginny." Helga paused, "Who is this?"
"It appears to be Rhonda Wellington, Helga." Phoebe said eyeing the paper.
"What! They let her be one of the judges of the contest? She probably bribed everyone into choosing the other poem! She doesn't know me! She doesn't know what Helga G. Pataki-" She stopped and glared at a few bystanders and continued on in low voice. "is capable of writing."
"Helga, look. They posted the winning poem in the paper." Phoebe pointed at the very bottom of the article, to a poem simply titled, My Love.
Barely a day goes by,
That I don't think,
How lucky I am to have her in my life.
I see her in my sleep,
Just like I see her pass me every day,
The girl of my Dreams,
This girl I love.
She is the purpose in which I wake up every morning.
Like the tender wind that picks up and guides the fowl,
I am picked up by her,
Unable to move from the lure of her currents,
I sail in the sky that is her.
Boundless, alight, subtle, elusive, and impeccably charming,
she fills my view.
In this deathless space we call life we are so close and yet so far,
For she has seen me but does not really see,
And she hides from me but I already saw.
Alas, if only she knew!
This longing that chokes my heart for her,
But it is okay.
For this feeling she gives me,
The one that makes me weak, even though I am strong,
Or the one that gives me strength when she is weak.
Or the one that makes me nervous, even though I have overcome many devils and fears that had always crossed my way.
Or the one that makes me feel like singing love sonnets,
Even though I can not sing.
These feelings,
Are my feelings.
My love.
And although it may not be her,
This passion that I feel
Is definitely mine to keep.
Phoebe searched for the author's name before spotting it somewhere in the passage. "Brian…that's it. I guess he used a penname same as you." Phoebe watched Helga's reaction as she reread the poem. It looked like she was sincerely impressed. Phoebe made a mental note to arrange another poetry contest with Rhonda.
Helga was breathless. The poem was stunning! It made her poem seem whiny and superficial in comparison.
Perhaps the real reason for him winning, was because he must be in a real relationship. He sounds like he's in the happy kind of love- or at least close to having it, Helga thought. Not at all like my dying unborn love with Arnold. Whoever this Brian was, the object of his affections must be one lucky girl….if she just returned those feelings, she thought remembering all the suffering in his poem. It was deep, and she felt an admiration for the broken artist.
Helga sat a her desk near the window, paper in hand, as she gazed outside the window at the group of dark clouds forming in the distance. She looked down in time to see Arnold and a group of friends hanging out near the entrance of school using up the few minutes before class started in each others company.
Everytime I want to give up on him, there's always something inside telling me to just give it time.
Helga sighed, adding aloud, "Then there's the majority of me telling that small part of me to can it before I beat up on myself." She smiled grimly at her reflection in the window.
"Sometimes I can be so hard on myself."
A/N: Okay, so obviously this story is pretty AU with some OOC characters. It's a growing process, it takes a while to understand the characters, their motives, and how they try to improve themselves or self sacrifice themselves for others (this can be applied to most of the characters). So anyway, up next comes some interaction between the characters and more Brainy! Some important stuff's gonna happen, so stay tuned!
Reviews appreciated! Oh and some fanart of my fanfic here (remove spaces):
www. mirrorcover .deviantart. com /#/d2t4go2
www. mirrorcover. deviantart. com /#/d2t4gt6
Sort of a preview for upcoming chapters (more near the end of the story of course).