Chapter 59
Never Saw it Coming
-HELGA-
Early February already. That's the thing about life, it seems to all sort of blend together into a sort of continuous… continuum (come on, writer, you're better than this, up your metaphor game).
Okay. Life is like… a smoothie. You've got all these big chunks of fruity experience, but they all get blended into the smooth, featureless yogurt of time and it all gets processed into a goo. But here and there there's a chunk of mango or pineapple that the blender didn't completely pulverize and it stands out in your mind. Thing is, lately I've just been getting the goo. At least Valentine's Day was coming up soon, and now that Arnold and I are once again an item, I could expect some kind of surprise from him. Last year he set up some kind of AR scavenger hunt where he left me a whole bunch of clues that led me on a tour of major landmarks of our life, culminating in a romantic dinner atop the former FutureTech Tower. I got lost twice along the way and briefly ended up in a chess match with the Sewer King but I did eventually make it and it was spectacular.
It was still a few days before that, though. We were still firmly in the goo. Today was gonna be the usual drill… class, class, lunch, class, class, study hall, class, go home, do whatever homework I can't put off, stream something from the half-dozen-or-so-services I've "borrowed" friends' passwords to, hunt for a little bad guy butt (I hadn't run into any more Paragon-heads, but I had a feeling that would change), and get ready to do it all again tomorrow.
But today as I waited for my carpool with Rhonda I was about to get a huge surprise that would shake my world's foundation to the core. Or, to continue the metaphor, someone was about to drop a whole coconut into the blender.
The Miata (Rhonda thankfully had not named it yet, though it wouldn't shock me if she was thinking about it; after Nadine, the car was her second love and there probably wasn't as much distance between the two as you would think) pulled up to the curb outside our building. Lila had already claimed the shotgun position and Pheobe occupied the rear passenger seat. "Get in," Rhonda said abruptly, her foul mood apparent. And unexpected. Last I spoke to her, she was all aflutter (pun intended) over her Valentine Weekend plans to take Nadine to Washington's largest butterfly sanctuary. Trouble in paradise, perhaps? I glanced at Phoebe, sending her a ~what's her deal?~ thoughtagram.
~You didn't see it?~ she thought back at me. Telepathy. Like texting, but soooo much better.
~See what?~ I thought back, before Rhonda's head snapped around. "You know I can feel that, right? I can't hear it, but I can feel it."
"Criminy, Princess, what crawled up your ass today?" It had been a good thig she hadn't started driving yet or we probably would've been in huge trouble.
"What cr- are you joking? You had to have seen it, right?"
"Seen what?"
"The POST! Patty's post on social! You have to have seen it!"
Patty's post? I tried to remember if I'd seen anything. "Was it this morning? I haven't been on Insta since last-"
"Insta? You're still using InstaChat? Only boomers use InstaChat! Everyone's on SnappaGram now!" Rhonda interrupted exasperatedly.
I glanced over to Phoebe pleadingly, who nodded sadly in confirmation. "It's true. InstaChat is out. Too many parents discovered it."
"But Arnold still uses InstaChat," I protested.
"Arnold used carrier pigeons until eighth grade," Lila reminded.
"Here," Phoebe interjected, offering me her own phone. The app in question was open to a post Patty had made last night.
"Okay, what is it I'm supposed to-" I stopped short as I realized just what it was I was looking at. The current location: Las Vegas. It was one of those 24-hour wedding chapels. Complete with the stereotypical Elvis-imitator chaplain, though this one wore a yarmulke and prayer shawl… sequin-spangled, of course. And standing before him was none other than the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Berman.
"What… the… f***." I mumbled.
"You see? You see? How could she do this to me?"
Oh, heeeere we go. "Shockingly, I think this might not be a plot to make your life difficult."
"I'm just saying… how could she just run. off and get married without telling anyone? We could have done something to celebrate."
"What, exactly? We're all too young to be admitted anywhere in Las Vegas," noted Phoebe. "Not to mention the difficulty of securing transport… and permission."
"I just wanted to throw an engagement party," Rhonda pouted. "Is that so much to ask?"
"Aw," Lila cooed, giving her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
"You're just encouraging her! Stop it!" I scolded her, though, inside, I was still reeling.
Harold was married.
Harold. The guy who, back in fourth grade, was easily the least mature person I knew, despite being significantly older than anyone. Harold, the guy who would run home crying to mommy if he so much as got a bump on the nose. Harold. Was married.
It was some cheap Vegas ceremony of both dubious legal and religious significance (since I doubted Rabbi Elvis was truly ordained in accordance with rabbinic law), but still. He and Patty had just become the first of our group to take that step. It was sobering.
As Rhonda finally pulled back into traffic, my mind drifted back to old, familiar territory. As a child, I would often find myself daydreaming about being married to my football-headed crush, though those daydreams rarely resembled anything like everyday, humdrum domestic life. Sometimes I was President, sometimes we were spies, sometimes superheroes, sometimes explorers… one time it was astronauts, and we thwarted an invasion, that one was fun. Housework, kids, that never really entered into the equation. I was nine. Why would I want to think about that?
Later, things changed. First, I finally got together with Arnold. Then, I got badass alien powers. My parents even started paying attention to me. I was suddenly living all my fantasies. I didn't need to daydream about the future anymore. I had pretty much everything I wanted. The thoughts of marriage had faded away. That was something for Future Helga to think about. Current Helga was cool with how everything was going.
But now, suddenly the future was a tangible thing. Harold was married. Someday sooner rather than later, other people I had grown up with would be joining them. Someday, maybe I would be one of them.
And what then? Housework. Mortgages. Taxes. Kids? Would there be kids? Could there be kids? Our parts were compatible, but were our genes? If by some miracle they were, what then?
Jeez, listen to me. I'm not even seventeen yet. I shouldn't be thinking about this stuff. I should be thinking about the trig exam that I have and that I'm not ready for. Luckily it's last period and I can cram during study hall and lunch, but will it be enough? That remains to be seen.
And yet, try as I might, I couldn't seem to focus on what I was doing at all. The future kept creeping through my head. I even found myself daydreaming the Mr. Frank's class (not that he made it hard to do).
It went a little something like this…
("Love that Mutant" was filmed in front of a dumb studio audience.)
[An early-60s sitcom living room set. The door opens. ARNOLD, wearing a suit and tie, enters)
Arnold: Hi, honey, I'm home!
[applause]
Helga (offscreen): One second, dear, just putting the finishing touches on the roast.
(A burst of flames from the kitchen door. The fire alarm goes off)
[laughter]
(HELGA emerges. [applause] She is in her mutant form, dressed as Donna Reed. She carries the burn roast in her lower pair of hands and is trying to fan away the smoke with her upper ones)
Helga: I hope you like your meat well done.
[laughter]
Arnold: Honey, I wish you would just use the oven…
[laughter]
Helga: But using my powers really saves on the gas bills!
[laughter]
Arnold: I know, but the fire department's starting to get annoyed.
[laughter]
Helga: I guess Crepes Suzette was a bad choice for dessert, then.
[laughter]
[irritated knock]
Helga: I'll get that.
(She opens the door. A man stands there. He wears green tights with a skull-and-crossbones emblem on the chest, a high-collared purple cape, and has a stiff handlebar mustache and goatee and goggles)
Helga: Professor Mayhem. What brings you here? You better not be plotting anything nefarious. I've got all three eyes on you. (does "watching you" gesture)
Mayhem: Rest assured, dear neighbor, that if anything were to drive me back to evildoing it would be those ill-mannered brats of yours.
Arnold: And what did they do?
Mayhem: I'll have you know they launched a spherical projectile into my abode.
Arnold: So, they it a baseball and it broke your window.
[laughter]
Mayhem: Yes. As well as the wall behind the window And the wall behind that one. And… well, you get the picture. As far as I know, the baseball is still going.
[laughter]
Helga: Wow. I knew Suzy could hit but I didn- oh, right, I'm supposed to be mad. [laughter] Buster! Suzy! Mr. Mayhem-
Mayhem: DOCTOR Mayhem!
[laughter]
Helga (ignoring): Wants to talk to you!
(A boy descends the stairs. He has Arnold's basic looks, though he has horns, a tail and three arms (two on his right side). He wears a striped shirt, shorts, and a baseball cap. A girl with wings, a third eye, pink skin, and also an extra arm (though hers is on the left side) flutters down and lands beside him)
Both (simultaneously): He/she did it!
[laughter]
Mayhem: There you are, you ill-mannered rapscallions!
Buster: Is that a word?
[laughter]
Mayhem: Your perfidious chicanery has precipitated no end of consternation! I demand punitive recompense!
Suzy: Mooooom, make him make seeeeense…
[laughter]
Helga: He says you hit a ball through his house, and possibly other houses.
[laughter]
Buster: How many houses? Each one counts as a poi- (notices Helga's expression) …sonous action, whiiiich we as good children would never do!
(Both put on their most innocent expressions. Halos appear above their heads)
Arnold: Tell the truth. And stop using your illusion powers, Suzy. No one's fooled.
[laughter]
Suzy: Rats. (the halos vanish)
Buster: Fine, we're sorry…
Helga: And I'm sorry that your allowances will be going to help pay for the repairs to Doctor Mayhem's house.
Buster: Then can we have a raise on our allowances so we can pay him off faster.
[laughter]
Helga: You really can't read the room, can you.
[laughter]
("Love that Mutant" is brought to you by Mickey's Dog Pound. The decline in the stray dog population is just a coincidence!")
And that's where the bell went off. Weird, huh? Probably the result of falling asleep while watching the retro sitcom channel one too many times.
"You're kidding," Arnold responded, his usually half-lidded eyes actually wide-open for a change.
"Swear to god, Arnoldo," I confirmed. "Pinkboy actually made an honest woman out of Patty. Well, as honest as you can get with a Vegas wedding presided by an Elvis-impersonator rabbi."
"I can't believe it. Two of us got married. I mean, yeah, they've been dating pretty much forever and they're much older than us…"
"Yeah, I keep forgetting that Harold is almost 21." I leaned in conspiratorially. "You think Harold knocked her up?"
"HELGA!"
"What? It's a genuine concern. Who knows what they've been getting up to?"
"Let's just change the subject…"
"I'm just saying and all. Kids are a thing that can happen. Are we- are they ready for kids?"
Arnold's eyebrow went up. He'd caught the Freudian slip. "Is this really about Harold?"
"Wha- nooo, no, no, how could you even think that? It's not like I even ever wanted kids… I mean, if you and I could even have kids, considering…"
"…do you want kids?"
"I… I don't know. I didn't… I thought I didn't, anyway… I mean, could you blame me considering the sorry excuses I had for parents? At least back then. Mom's gotten her act together, though, and even Bob is approaching passable… but the wounds are deep and they haven't fully healed. They might have tainted my feelings on the matter, just a bit. I probably just have it on the brain because of the Harold thing."
"I guess that makes sense."
"Yeah, the whole daydream probably didn't mean anything…"
"Wait, daydream? This I have to hear."
"Oh, you know, it was no big deal, just some stupid sitcom daydream I had while listening to Frank drone. I mean, you're pretty much forced to since he's so boring…"
I proceeded to describe the daydream, at least what I could remember of it, in detail.
"…and I woke up when it cut to commercial. So, yeah, it's all probably just meaningless brain garbage, right?"
"Huh?"
I shot him a death glare. "You were picturing me in the Donna Reed outfit, weren't you…"
He blushed. "No! Well… maybe…"
"You know I would never ever dress like that, right?"
"I think we're getting off track here… I firmly believe that dreams are our subconscious telling us something. So what do you think your subconscious is telling you?"
"That I watch too many old sitcoms?"
"Maybe, but what else?"
"I don't know! Sure I remember feeling happy in whatever weird parody of domestic bliss that was, and I remember feeling love for my twin half-and-half freak babies, but I've also dreamt about playing jump rope with Tulouse Lautrec! Dreams are complete nonsense!"
I thought I saw some kind of disappointment in his eyes just then. Was that it then? Was that the life he wanted with me? I had never really thought about it that way… I thought he wanted what I wanted… after all, his own parents were the very archetype of the adventurer couple, and I could see him seeing us following in their footsteps. But that was just me making my own assumptions. I didn't know what he really wanted… after all, his parents' adventuring had left him parentless for a decade. Maybe what he wanted was to give someone the kind of childhood he never had.
The truth is, I needed to stop projecting my own feelings onto him. Besides… apparently a part of me might actually want it to.
I adored those half-and-half freak twins.
So I continued "I really shouldn't be focused on this stuff anyway, right? All this is years away. We're better off focusing on the now."
"I guess you're right." He's still totally thinking about it. Especially me in the Donna Reed outfit. I can't really blame him. I put the thought in his head, after all. The woman definitely pulled off the "hot housewife" look.
Maybe next Halloween…
A.N: Yeah, I'm not even gonna make excuses anymore, chapters will come out when they come out, but I have not forgotten this story and I do have ideas for the next plot beats. I don't blame anyone for being impatient, but Inspiration isn't a faucet. You can't just turn it on and it comes gushing out.
Wonko: It is going somewhere, I promise…
Bunny: It is kind of a slow burn like a lot of the serialized shows.
Jose: Helga really hasn't been tested much, but very soon, we'll see what happens when Our Heroes meet someone with power and the training to back it up.
Next: We're in Beta