"I'm sorry?"
"He has, hasn't he?" The boy repeated as his lips curled into a slasher smile.
["Who in this city can swing a dead cat around WITHOUT hitting somebody that had their lives altered for the better by the hand of Arnold Phillip Shortman, the living Saint of Hillwood? Self-proclaimed friend to all. Ever present patcher of relationships, salvager of career, savior of stupid turtles…and yet….and yet…"]
"You hate him?" Dr. Bliss asked.
Curly lets out a small but loud and wheezing laugh, only to stop abruptly and screw up his face in ponderation.
[…well, alright. I can more than attest to the fact that Arnold's presence boils my blood and sends me into a rueful frenzy, but when push comes to shove, there is a layer of intrigue rippling through my contempt for him. He's like…like a frog or a fetal pig I want to dissect and study. But why? Why does he frustrate and fascinate me the way he does? That, Doc, has been a question I've wracked my brain all these years since coming to Hillwood.]
[At first I thought my contempt came from the fact that he's boring; that past his pesky, optimistic, idealistic, disposition all know him for, one finds a vacuous hole of charisma. The human equivalent of already been chewed gum. The kind of guy so painfully unaware of the line between gratitude and complacency that he'd be just as content with his station in life even if it meant languishing in the anonymity of that which we call the daily grind.]
[But that's too easy. So let's dig deeper.]
[One might start back to a certain student jury of yore; and how, were it not for Arnold's chipper obstinance when it came to getting Eugene off the hook for the fire alarm after playing Twelve Angry Students, we'd all be enjoying our afternoon (…and of course, I would have gotten away with framing him for everything he did to my pencil…). Another might put a pin in the time he got to be the last canonical link in the chain of succession that came with ball monitor, a chain whose hiccup happened to fall on MY allotted turn at this task. While those two moments were indeed crucial pieces to the puzzle, they still didn't solve everything…at least not at first…But now, now I have a clear picture of the hows and whys which catapult that goober to the top of my shit list.]
"And what does this picture entail Curly?" Dr. Bliss asked slowly.
[Fate meant…nay, preordained, for Arnold and I to be together; to be the devil to his angel, the yin to his yang, the chaos to his order, the dismally hopeless black to his radiant and idealistic white. And how do I know this Dr. Bliss? How am I so sure?]
Curly pauses dramatically.
"It all began with a little note from Rhonda Lloyd."
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait." Dr. Bliss said putting her hand up. "As fascinating as this all is Curly, didn't you say last session that you bore no romantic feelings."
"Yes I did." The bowl-cut boy replied affirmatively. "And while you and I know that, she does not, and I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind."
"So then why would a rejection from Rhonda matter to you if-"
"Let me finish!" Curly curtly interjected.
"Sorry. Continue."
(Flashback; Curly POV)
"...Frankly, Curly, with your bold eyewear, jaunty upper lip and attractive bowl-cut hairdo, I think you're a total hottie! Sincerely yours, your secret admirer."
Curly: [That whole day was a rather odd one. First that pencil-nibbling nuisance EUGENE has his bike fall apart in the middle of traffic, only to be used as a sentient chew toy by some local mutts. Then Lorenzo's phone shatters after an unfortunate collision with the hallway floor. Sandwiched somewhere between those two events was Rhonda Lloyd's 'love letter', no doubt composed in some attempt to throw me off her scent. And it all would have been foolproof were it not for one little detail she neglected to account for…]
Curly lowers the paper down and sees Rhonda writing another letter. The magenta-colored ink flowing from the Lloyd girl's pen causes him to emit an inquisitive hum. Rhonda looks over her shoulder and notices Curly; despite the futility, and shamefully hides her pencil as the boy blows a kiss at her; a gesture which she replies to with a shocked gasp.
(Present)
"And we all know what happened after that, don't we Dr. Bliss?" Curly replied as he grabbed and dipped a cushion from the good doctor's couch.
"Yes…and that only happened because Helga-"
[Gave her a bum deal in the advice department. All because she Rhonda, Sid, Harold, and Stinky, all decided to call Arnold out for being a buzzkill, a Budinski and a morally myopic wet blanket. Yet what did they do when the world fell apart? What little god did they suddenly come before on bended knee to pull their fat from the fire of their own making?"]
[Arnold.]
[Phillip.]
[Shortman.]
[The same Arnold Phillip Shortman whom they earlier sought to deconstruct and ridicule when they believed themselves impervious to the consequences of their actions. And for one glorious moment, their little god abandoned them!]
"Okay, but…How…are you…getting being the Anti-Arnold out of one moment where he shows a little tough love to his peers?"
"People like Arnold." Curly begins quietly. "Why?"
Dr. Bliss opens her mouth to answer but Curly interjects.
"Well like you said 'Arnold has always been regarded by all who know him as a thoughtful, fair, benevolent, mature, and compassionate child'. What happens to children Dr. Bliss?"
"They grow up-"
[THEY! GROW! UP! And when they grow up, all the gooey and sanctimonious things Arnold represents like 'hope', 'compassion', 'altruism', 'idealism'…are no different than any other toys you once played with as a child. Stuff like that don't fly in The Real World…(he chuckles icily)…The Real World.' I've often found those three words to be the calling card of your garden variety cynic; the emotionally anorexic jerk whose hope and idealism failed to withstand the deluge of defecation from life's anus, so they clip the wings of others in order to feel even the tiniest crumb of joy. And for one brief moment, even the most hopelessly optimistic and principled, among us can have his limits and find himself folding like a cheap suit.]
[In that moment, all the pieces seemed to fit together. I realized how alike Arnold and I truly are when you think about it, and why the two of us are meant to dance this dance for all eternity; he and I are not all that different when you think about it. You'd never guess it in a million years, but think about it for a moment. Each of us have childhoods where kooky elders left deep imprints and a hole in our hearts over MIA relations courtesy of Helpers for Humanity-]
"Yes…I recall that you had mentioned your Aunt-"
['I had mentioned my Aunt. 'I had mentioned my Aunt.' That's more than Helpers for Humanity, or mom and dad, or ANYONE ever did! The forgotten disappointment of Helpers for Humanity. Very much unlike a pair of intrepid lovebirds she happened to cross paths with.]
"You mean Miles and Stella Shortman."
[Bingo! Everybody knows their story within the HFH and all adjacent circles; called back to San Lorenzo as the sleeping sickness ravaged the Green Eyes, only for themselves to be afflicted and left comatose in a temple somewhere. Leaving in their wake a bouncing baby boy who'd one day become this sanctimonious twerp, all too happy to be the angel on our collective shoulder.]
[But all good things don't last do they. After Helga broke down and admitted how PS 118 would be lost without his guidance the status quo slowly crept back and we all returned him back to that little pedestal from which he lords over us. Then came our little bungle in the jungle last summer and once again I had my hopes yo-yoed by the fickle hand of fate. One minute everyone's stock in poor, poor Arnold was bought crashing down to earth once we found ourselves held hostage by river pirates. The next we're all banding together to not only rescue him, Gerald and Helga but bring back his parents.]
[Like many, I thought this was the end of Arnold Phillip Shortman. With his parents back in the picture and the hole in his heart filled, he'd get everything he ever wanted, only to regress drastically considering Mommy and Daddy would be mentally stuck with the image of him as a baby. Little by little their presence would slowly undo a lifetime of good deeds as he costed off his status from here on out, reaping the rewards of his altruism and never giving a flying fudge bar about anyone again. Then and only then would everyone see their hero for the emotionally stunted, self-righteous man child I and I alone knew existed beneath it all.]
[But that didn't happen, did it? If anything, he came back from this ordeal recharged.]
[My paper about Pigeon Man? Arnold had to prove me wrong and bring him in for his report on local history and folklore.]
[Big Bob's Beepers? Arnold had to give that blowhard a new lease on life.]
[Harold's Driver's License, Rhonda's narcissism, Sid and Stinky's pathetic attempt at a Rockabilly duo…on and on it went with this guy. Even…even the times where he failed miserably, like his attempt at making Ronnie Matthews great again, Arnold still walked out of it unscathed!]
[But then, THEN fate decided to throw me a bone; around the waning days of May, two baseball games at Gerald Field ended with us getting clotheslined by some lower classmen. Had I a quarter for all the grumbling that came out of it, I could buy Wankyland seventy times over, but instead I sprung for the next best thing. The ultimate test of Arnold's influence over the bleating brain-dead masses known as my so-called peers: the resurrection of a little thing we used to call Trashcan Day. And with an alliance alongside that malicious mountain of muscle they call Ludwig coupled with Big Gino rustling up some goons, it would be the coup of the century! The murkiest scam!
(Imagine Spot: Curly)
Ranks upon ranks of Gino's goons line the ledges behind a small gathering of PS118 6th Graders. First from the left side, then the right side are illuminated in yellow light. A puff of sickly yellow smoke comes and goes, now cutting to everyone as a goose-stepping army lead by Ludwig and Gino. Atop a nearby ledge, Curly observes the spectacle from on high. His face is screwed up in the steeliest of grins and a sharp officer's coat festooned with a comical quantity of medals, patches and sashes adorns his body.
Curly: Between Gino's connections, Ludwig's brawn and (of course) my cunning, Fourth AND Fifth graders learning that the natural order of things shall always prevail regardless of how much people like Arnold may wish it to be otherwise; the strong devouring the weak, the smart cudgeling the feeble. The first step in a long, cruel lesson about how life cares little for their existence and all that it entails...
With the wave of Curly's hand, rows upon rows of dumpsters opens up from along the sides; flames and steam shooting into the sky. The army of sixth graders charge with a brutish and blood-curdling roar as they proceed to grab the faceless fourth and fifth graders in their futile attempts at fleeing. Arnold Gerald, Helga and Phoebe frantically attempt to stave off the inevitable by shielding a lower classmen or two, but their attempts are quickly rendered moot. Arnold in particular tries to fend off three of Gino's goons, only to have one of them knock him out with the butt end of a toy rifle.
(Back in Reality)
"...And as the dust settled, Arnold would be weeping amidst history's compost heap," Curly concluded with excitement. "While name of Thaddeus Joel Gammelthorpe would stand undisputed, respected, saluted. AND I'D BE SEEN FOR THE WONDER I AM!"
Curly laughed many times before in her office, but for the first time, a chill ran up Dr. Bliss' spine watching him descend yet again into frothing fits of chortling. But it was the cold and determined refusal to even blink that told her this time there was no way she was going to pull him back to reality. Reaching for the phone on her desk she waited for the other end to pick up before saying the two words that would abort this session and restore even the slightest veneer of serenity.
"Hello, Security…"