The following Sunday, Gerald, Phoebe, and I packed up Gerald's dented, old, reliable Volvo and headed out right as the sun was coming up. The usually exhausting five-and-a-half-hour drive from Boston to Hillwood somehow managed to fly by. The next thing I knew, I was standing on my front stoop staring up at my childhood home. Before all the memories, both good and bad, could flood into my brain, the front door opened. There stood my mother, Miriam Pataki; She yanked me into her arms and pulled me into the house while simultaneously closing the door behind us.
"Oh sweetie! I'm so glad you're home. How do you feel? Are your friends coming inside too? Do you need help carrying in your things?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, mom it's okay." I smiled at the fact that my mother cared so much about me; Somewhere in the back of my mind I always thought she would relapse, but here she was, her vibrant and enthusiastic self, ten years later.
"Mom, I'm fine, Gerald and Phoebe are heading to see their parents and drop off things for their wedding, and I only brought one suitcase- that's currently sitting on the stoop. I just wanted to drop off my things and go see Grandpa before dinner, if that's okay with you."
My mom bit her lip and said, "Oh! Okay sweetheart, but your father will be home soon if you want him to go with you."
I should've known that something was wrong right then simply by her wanting someone to go with me, but my mind just wouldn't accept that. Grandpa was gonna be fine! He's still in his prime! …Right?
"That's okay mom, I don't plan on staying long since the old timer always pulls through and plus I'm planning on staying with him all day tomorrow. I can't wait to tell him about my new baseball move that helped me finally beat Kim Larson last season! He's gonna laugh his diaper off."
My mom looked suddenly nervous and started to fidget. I stopped talking and looked up at her. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Honey, a few of the ladies from the neighborhood went to visit him on Wednesday and….well this time it's different. He's fighting pneumonia on top of overcoming his injury and honestly I think since his wife died he just can't keep going. You do realize he's quite old? I mean, he was quite old when you were quite young…..what I mean is that you might have to accept that he may not make it this time."
I knew she was right, but that didn't make it any easier for me to accept. I shook my head and pulled my jacket tighter to my chest. I took a deep breath and spoke softly, "I just don't know what I'm gonna do, you know? He's like the grandfather I never had and he was practically my only family for a good part of my childhood."
I saw my mother flinch slightly from the corner of my eye. I realized suddenly how what I'd said must have hurt her, but that didn't make it any less true.
Bob and Miriam finally realized they weren't Parents of the Year after they received a call saying their daughter was missing in the jungle of San Lorenzo. Neither of them seemed to remember that I had left on a field trip three days earlier or that I had been obsessively drawing and memorizing maps of San Lorenzo for four months. They also apparently hadn't noticed the stack of overdue library books about the history of the Green-Eyed People that was currently taking up most of my room.
When we all came home from San Lorenzo Big Bob realized his youngest daughter didn't seem to care that he'd spent a thousand dollars on tickets to "Satan's Playland" just to pick me up, or that I didn't care that he'd been yelling at me since he dragged me back home, or that I didn't care that we were home, or that I didn't care…about anything. I remember him using my actual name before I went to my room and closed the door, "Helga, what's the matter with you girl?" I didn't answer him that day, or for the next six weeks. I didn't talk to anyone for that matter.
My parents changed during this time, but if I haven't already mentioned, I didn't care. The moments that they'd changed before never stuck, so how was I to know that they'd stick this time.
The field trip was the last hurrah of the school year, so I didn't have to go to school or see my friends. I stayed inside for weeks. Miriam would remind me to take a bath and eat, while Big Bob would try to get me to talk. He even invited Pheebs over one time, but even she couldn't get me to do much except groan. My parents finally took me to see Dr. Bliss. Since she already knew my history and of my love for Arnold, she was the first person to get me to talk. She helped put things in perspective. She told me to view this time without Arnold as a fresh start. "Figure out who you are without Arnold Shortman, you just might like her."
The days after that appointment with Dr. Bliss I started to come alive again. I talked to Big Bob and Miriam and learned that Miriam had started going to AA with Bob by her side and that Big Bob was looking for a partner to help shoulder his workload. I assumed these changes would be temporary, but I was wrong. Miriam started cooking again, Bob came home on time each night, Olga's visits no longer revolved around her, instead they were opportunities for family time.
Before I knew it sixth grade was starting, but this time was different. My friends knew about my feelings for Arnold (at least on some level), they knew that I was mushy on the inside, and they openly cared about me. Now don't get me wrong, the friendship dynamics were all pretty much the same, but there was a respect and honesty that hadn't been there before. Gerald looked out for me whenever Wolfgang pulled his crap, Harold offered me a bite of his burger every Friday before baseball games, and Pheebs no longer said "ice cream" when referencing Arnold.
As the years passed I learned more about myself. I was smart- like really smart. Pheebs was still Valedictorian, but I wasn't far behind her on graduation day. I was also a great writer; My works included poetry, young adult fiction, and horror stories (I guess our childhood Halloweens rubbed off on me). I won a bunch of awards throughout high school, was editor of the school paper, and even got a few articles into local magazines. I'm now pursuing a teaching degree with a minor in English Literature. Mr. Simmons likes to think he had a lot to do with my pursuits, which he did, but there was no way in hell I was going to teach fourth graders. My preference was geared more towards college students.
Stinky and I started going out Sophomore year. I know, I know, but he was sweet, kind, and taller than me (which was a big deal to me at that time). We dated on and off throughout high school, went to homecoming and prom together, but we eventually broke up senior year when we realized we were better at being just friends than more-than-friends.
Overall things were looking good, but each time I'd get a letter from him, I'd freak. I'd stare at the letter, willing myself to open it but I saw the letter as a trap; a trap that would yank me back to a time where I needed him to make me function. I just couldn't do it. So, I started to pile them in a binder with sleeves and there they stayed for six years, unopened and unread.
"Honey? Honey? Hello?"
"Huh?" I looked up at my concerned mother's face and shook my head. "I'm sorry mom I zoned out, but I have to get going if I want to see grandpa today!"
"Oh. Okay honey, but please text me if you need me or your father to pick you up."
"I'll be fine mom, but thanks!" I shouted as I went for the door.
My mother looked like she wanted to say more, but she let me go.