A/N: Well finally, here it is guys. The end of my very first fanfic attempt. Thanks for being so faithful and patient (and pernickety, and naggy) about reading and reviewing. (50+ reviews...yahoo! I gotta admit, I'm still surprised and happy about that.) I hope you've enjoyed this story, and I really hope it doesn't turn out quite the way you had expected. That wouldn't be any fun. Yet more lyrics written in here, taken from "Meant to Be" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers---a talented if somewhat obscure jazz/swing band. It's a good song; sorta slow with a 'smooth' jazzy beat, for lack of a better description. (Well...the girl who sings it sounds a little like Billie Holliday, if that means anything.) Anyway, I thought the lyrics fit in. Maybe you'll like the result.
Okay, enough sentiment. Now it's your turn. Go write something and impress me! (After you've finished reading this, of course.)
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"Helga--wait."
She hesitated briefly, fought the urge to turn, and chose to keep going...melting away into the darkness. Then from behind came the muffled sound of hurriedly following footsteps on the path. Her own pace quickened, but to no avail; he was soon catching up and walking beside her.
"Look at me."
Keep walking. Don't stop...
"Will you look at me? It's really hard to talk to someone who won't even acknowledge your presence."
Ignore him...ignore him...ignorehim..ignorehimignorehi.....
Arnold stepped in front of her, forcing her to a halt. She blinked, frowned, unceremoniously pushed him aside and went on her way without a word. Narrowing his eyes, he let out frustrated sigh and caught up with her again.
"I don't want to chase after you, but I'm not going to let you have the final say, either. I'm going to talk all night if that's what it takes for you to start listening."
No response.
"Keep ignoring me, and I'll sing 'Henry the Eighth'. And I know enough Simon and Garfunkel songs to be very annoying..." he warned.
No response.
"......If it helps," he slowly began after a moment, "I'm glad you told me. I had no idea you'd put yourself through so much...torment."
Still no response.
"That's a lot of aggravation to keep pent up for so long. ...I wish you had said something sooner."
Although her gaze stayed fixed ahead, she muttered a reply at last. "Well, I wish I hadn't made a big fool of myself tonight, and I wish to be left alone now."
"Helga, don't run away like this."
"I'm not running. I'm walking," she said in a flat tone.
"Funny girl. I mean it; don't run from me." He took her by the arm to slow her down. "That won't solve anything."
"Let go of me, or you'll regret it," she threatened, but there was little conviction in her words.
"You've been running away most of your life.....haven't you?"
"What's it to you if I have?"
"A lot," he answered. "Do you even know what you're running from, anymore?"
"Does it matter?"
"To me, it does. You've picked a horrible note to end things on. "
"Why should you care?"
"I don't want you to be unhappy. I don't want to say goodbye like this, either. It isn't right--or fair."
Helga almost laughed in spite of herself. How very typical of him. "Nobody ever promised it would be." A few seconds later she stopped on her own, shaking her head in disbelief. "All right. All right--fine, Arnold," she said with a flippant wave of the arm. "I'm listening. So, what do you want?"
"I...I don't know. I don't know what else to say,"
"Then don't say anything."
What seemed like an hour of silence passed as they fell into stride again, walking down the old path for the second time that evening. The moon shone brightly above, illuminating their slow journey out of the park. Neither of them paid it much attention, though, concentrating instead on their feet shuffling dejectedly through the gravel. Finally, Arnold cleared his throat and spoke.
"I never gave up on you, you know. I still don't understand you, but I haven't given up, either."
"You're persistent. It's one of your more irritating qualities."
"Could I ask you something?"
"Sure---what the hey. There must be some intimately guarded secret of mine that I haven't revealed yet."
"Why did you get angry when he called you 'cheri'?" he asked cautiously. "What does it mean?"
He IS dense! What kind of question is that after...well, everything? she thought. But she shrugged. "It's a term of endearment--sort of like calling someone 'Honey', or 'Sweetheart', or 'Pookie'. He was teasing me. I may lie about everything else, and maybe I'm a hypocrite for saying this, but I do think people shouldn't say such things unless they truly mean them. Shows of affection should be genuine. Otherwise, they're pointless, and sometimes cruel."
"I agree," said Arnold. He paused. "And I did believe you."
"Huh?"
"When we were kids. When you said you loved me, I... believed you. It's just that, well...we were nine. I didn't know how to handle it at the time, and I guess I tried to push it aside so it would be a little less...um...overwhelming. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm even sorrier it took this long for us to explain things to one another."
"Same here," Helga said glumly.
They continued on in an uneasy quiet for another few minutes, until at last she could bring herself to look him in the face.
"I knew how I felt then. But we're not nine anymore, Arnold. And I honestly don't know how I feel about you now."
"Same here."
Blue eyes met green eyes again, and he grinned in his lopsided way.
"It isn't too late to find out," he said. "Is the old Slausen's still around? If you want, I'll treat you to an ice cream or something. Maybe we could...talk a while longer?"
She returned the smile.
"Why not?"
From some distant place in the park, music was playing. Whether it was someone singing, or only a radio, or merely something from a dream, no one could tell. But it floated over the trees, drifting through the quiet night--a simple, long-forgotten little song that rose into the sky.
All
the
time,
I'm finding ways
to
make
things
fall
in
line.
I know
how tricky
things
can
be.
But I really do believe that...
You
are
mine,
and all the stars
are
there
before
us.
Listen here--
some things
are
meant
to
be...
"Oh, by the way..." said Arnold innocently as they walked along side by side, "I'm getting tired of this habit of yours--the one where you just start kissing me whenever you feel like it? Next time you want to kiss me, I'd appreciate a little warning first. We could write up an agreement..."
Try
to
take
it
slow.
Try
to
lose
control.
--But I'll tell you what the trick is:
What you get
is
what you have
to
give
away.
When I learned,
I
found
my
eyes
were
opened...
Her jaw dropped. "You arrogant louse!!!"
"...something like: 'I will only kiss Arnold on days ending with 'Y' between five and six p.m.....'"
"What makes you think there's even gonna BE a 'next time'--huh, Football-head? Tease me again, and I will clobber you two weeks from Sunday!"
"Ah...but Sunday ends with a 'Y', so you'll be busy then."
"Don't you dare get me started..."
Long
ago,
I had a dream
that
quickly
faded.
Goes
to
show
how tricky
dreams
can
be.
But wouldn't you agree that...
That peculiar feeling crossed over him again. But this time, it wasn't so unidentifiable, and this time he didn't brush it aside.
So.
'Football-head' and 'cheri' mean the same thing.
Those
who
know
will whisper
when
they
see
us
walking,
"There's a love
that's
always
meant
to
be..."
He laughed.
"Whatever you say, Helga. Whatever..you..say."