Work Text:
We open on a beautifully sunny late summer morning at the city park. Pan down to see Mr. Simmons assembling his 6th grade class at a nondescript spot under a tree on the park greens. He is carrying a pair of shovels.
Simmons:
Okay, class, listen up! Today we are gathered for a very special occasion - we’ll be taking a trip...back in time!
The class is abuzz.
Sid:
I knew it! I knew time travel was real! Is there a time machine inside that tree?
Simmons:
...No, Sid, I was speaking metaphorically. (Cut to a black and white flashback, where Simmons narrates the events) You see, fifty years ago, the sixth-grade class at the school buried a time capsule, a sealed box containing objects meaningful to that class, on the east side of this tree, which was not to be touched for fifty years. (Cut back to present) And now the day has come to unearth the time capsule and see what’s inside. In a way, it’s like receiving a letter from the past! Now, Harold, take this shovel and help me dig it out.
Harold:
All right! Let’s get that buried treasure!
Curly: (enviously)
No fair! The one time that we’re allowed to destroy public property in school, and I just have to sit and watch.
Sid:
So, what’s happening, are we going to the Fifties, or are Fifties people coming to us?
Gerald:
Man, didn’t you hear Mr. Simmons say he was speaking metaphorically?
Sid:
I don’t know what that means!
Harold suddenly strikes his shovel on something hard.
Harold:
Mr. Simmons! I think I found it!
He bangs his shovel on the hard object twice, at which point water comes spraying out at him.
Cut to a bit later, where we see that hole filled in, with Simmons and Harold resuming digging on the other side of the tree.
Simmons: (chagrined)
Sorry for the delay, kids, but I hope you all have learned a valuable lesson in how our city’s water mains work...and the importance of remembering the difference between east and west.
Helga:
Speed the plow, Simmons, or we’re going to miss lunch! Stir fry day only comes once a month, you know.
Arnold:
Relax, Helga, we’ve got time, plus it’s a beautiful day to be outside.
Helga:
Cram it, little Mister Rogers. (in her head) Oh, but it’s always a beautiful day when I’m with you...
Simmons reaches into the ground and pulls out a wooden crate, about the size of a laundry basket. The class oohs and aahs.
Simmons:
Paydirt! We’ve found the capsule.
----
Cut to a POV from within the box as Simmons pries it open with a screwdriver. Everyone is back in the classroom, huddled around the table at the front of the class and stretching to peer inside the box. Simmons pulls out a yellowed piece of paper and briefly examines it before handing it to Arnold.
Simmons:
It looks like the first thing in the capsule is a poem! Arnold, would you mind reading it to the class?
Arnold:
"Dear Cats and Daddi-Os,
Here are some trinkets from one hip school
Buried in the shade so that they’d always stay cool
It may not be much--compared to a rocket car
But it’s who we were, it’s who we are."
Arnold shrugs and hands the paper back to Simmons.
Simmons:
Let’s see what else we have in here...Oh! Here’s a class photo of that year's sixth grade class of P.S. 118!
Insert shot of the black-and-white class photo. There are about a dozen students, all of them white, all in period-appropriate uniforms, smiling politely. Sid points to one kid who looks very similar to him.
Sid:
Hey, I think that’s my uncle Lenny!
Sheena points to a girl in the photo.
Sheena:
And look, there’s Ms Slovak, our old teacher!
Simmons continues to pull objects out of the box and set them on the table.
Simmons:
Looks like they also put some of their favorite toys in here. Feel free to play with them... (He inspects a small jar from the box) ...Except this putty, I think this stuff was recalled for containing uranium. (He pulls out a thick, yellowed book) And this appears to be one of their history textbooks! What a fascinating find!
The class investigates the objects from within the box. Sid and Stinky have each put a finger into a Chinese finger trap.
Sid:
Pull!
Stinky:
I’m pullin’! You gotta push!
The two struggle to figure it out, then look at each other in defeat.
Sid:
...You mind if I come over to your house for dinner?
Stinky:
I reckon we got no choice.
Helga is fiddling with a ball-in-a-cup toy.
Helga:
Is this all they had before TV was invented? No wonder everyone in the Fifties got into switchblade rumbles and played rock-and-roll, this sucks eggs.
The string on the ball breaks mid-toss, the ball flying across the room and hitting someone.
Eugene, offscreen:
I’m okay!
Helga turns to Phoebe, who is poring over the textbook with a look of concern.
Helga:
Anything good in there, Phoebs? If the toys were this bad, that book must be a real snoozer.
Phoebe:
On the contrary, I find it fascinating to see how the historians of older eras reflected upon what were then recent events, in this case World War II. Although I could have done without them referring to the Japanese as “Imperial scum.”
Helga:
So? The Japanese were the bad guys in World War II, weren’t they?
Phoebe:
I know, but...my father is Japanese, and though I know the historian is referring specifically to the Japanese army of the time, I think this is egregious and offensive.
Helga:
You know, you’re right. (Angrily, to the book) Keep your color commentary to yourself, history book author! Leave Phoebe alone. (She throws the book on the ground and gives it an elbow drop; Phoebe smiles at her friend)
Cut to Arnold, Gerald, and Rhonda looking at the class photo.
Arnold:
Isn’t it neat seeing this photograph? Just a reminder that everyone was a kid once.
Rhonda:
I suppose, but did they all have to dress the same way? What a bunch of squares! Even though it’s in black and white, I can just tell none of them knew how to coordinate colors. But on the other hand, you boys could stand to wear suit jackets more often.
Gerald:
Speaking of black and white, how come that class is so...white? There’s nobody in there who looks like me!
Arnold:
I guess P.S. 118 wasn’t as diverse back then.
Gerald:
That’s bogus. They didn’t know what they were missing!
Simmons addresses the class from the front.
Simmons:
Alright, everyone, here comes the fun part! Now that we’ve had a chance to investigate the contents of the time capsule, it’s time for us to make our own! (He pulls out a large plastic bin from under his desk) Everyone will bring in a special item that you feel speaks to the here and now, one that you’d like kids in fifty years to discover just like we did with the time capsule today. And of course we also need a student to write a poem for the class of the future to read! Any volunteers for that?
Arnold looks over to Helga, who looks apathetic, then turns back to address the teacher.
Arnold:
I think Helga should write it, she’s the best poet in our class.
Helga perks up, looking surprised.
Simmons:
Brilliant idea! Helga, are you up to that?
Helga: (masking nervousness)
Uh, absolutely! You can count on me. (She gives Arnold the evil eye; he winks back)
Simmons:
Perfect. This assignment is due at the end of the week, when we will bury our time capsule in the park! Be creative, everyone!
The school bell rings and the class gets up to leave. Helga turns to Arnold, in a chastising manner.
Helga:
Way to throw me under the bus, football head, now I’ve gotta churn out a poem for this dumb project.
Arnold:
But you love to write poems! (discreetly) And I told you not to call me that anymore.
Helga: (discreetly in return)
I gotta keep up appearances. (back to normal tone) Don’t you understand anything about art? Inspiration has to strike, I’m not a rented mule who can be expected to craft verse on demand.
Arnold: (smirking)
You’ll think of something. I believe in you. See you tomorrow!
He walks away, leaving her at her locker, scowling; she then pulls out her locket with their picture in it and breaks into soliloquy.
Helga:
Ah, my blessed muse! You magnificent creature, one who believes in beauty, my Venus as a boy! You have put your faith in me to craft a poetic opus for the ages, and I shall tap into the deepest reaches of my soul to find the words to do so!
Smash cut to a montage of Helga laying on her bed, writing in a notebook, looking inspired. At the end, she holds up her notebook to admire her work: the words “A Poem” written in ornate script, but with nothing beneath it. She frowns.
Helga:
Now for the hard part... (She ponders) ... “Greetings, kind folks of the future” ...What rhymes with future? (She consults her orange Rhyming Dictionary) Suture, Hoosier, nurture...oh forget this.
She tears out the page and throws it on the floor; fade to a large pile of crumpled up pieces of paper on the floor. Pan over to Helga looking flustered, scrawling maniacally in her notebook, then stopping to read.
Helga:
“ Whenever he doth hold me in his warm and tender hands / It’s like a welcome rainstorm upon arid desert sands.” ...Hold up, this isn’t about the future! It’s about Arnold again! Ughhh...
Helga flops face-first onto her pillow, then flips over and stares at her locket.
Helga:
I must consult with my fount of wisdom.
----
Smash cut to Helga knocking on the boarding house door. Stella answers the door.
Stella: (in a welcoming tone)
Well, hi there! You’re Helga, right?
Helga: (brusquely)
Yeah, that’s the name, don’t wear it out.
Stella: (chuckles once)
I assume you’re looking for Arnold? Come in, I’ll show you up to his room.
Helga: (nervously)
Uh, thank you...but it’s just for school business. We were forced to work on this project together. I wish I could have worked with someone else, but you know how it goes...
Stella smiles as she leads Helga up to the hidden staircase to Arnold’s room. Helga looks to her, uncharacteristically shy.
Helga:
Hey, by the way, I don’t think I got to say this before, but welcome back, Arnold’s mom. I know Arnold missed you.
Stella:
Aw, thank you! We missed him too. You’re such a sweetheart!
Helga: (disarmed and nervous)
Yeah, sure... (She pulls down the staircase) I got it from here, ma'am. Nice to finally meet you properly.
Stella:
The pleasure is mine, Ms. Pataki!
Helga knocks on the door to Arnold’s room as Stella walks away, with a knowing smirk. Arnold answers the door looking startled.
Arnold:
Helga! What are you doing here?
Helga:
Your mom let me in. I could have knocked on your window, but my grappling hook’s in the shop.
She enters the room and flops onto the couch, making herself at home. Arnold takes a seat at his desk.
Arnold:
So what’s up? How’s your poem going?
Helga: (nervously laughing)
Oh, the poem! It’s coming along... (flatly) I’m stuck.
Arnold:
Stuck? Come on, I know you have it in you. Just put yourself in the headspace you get into whenever you write those...odes to me.
Helga: (sighing)
See, that’s the problem! My oeuvre has been centered around you and you alone, my works driven by passion and longing. And now that we’re finally together, I just can’t find that same level of inspiration, except when I write poems about us, but I don’t want the world to see them, ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand!...To quote one of the greats.
Arnold pauses, thinking, then smiles.
Arnold:
Come up to the roof.
He leads her out the window up to the rooftop; the sun is on the horizon, lighting up a partially cloudy sky in hues of orange and mauve. The two children look out at the neighborhood below.
Helga: (impatiently)
Okay, what are we doing out here? Other than breathing in fumes from the overpass?
Arnold: (serenely)
I want to help you find inspiration in the world around you. There’s so much beauty to be found if you just pause and look for it.
Helga’s eyes rest on Arnold’s face, and she stares dreamily at him. He waves a hand in front of her face.
Arnold:
I mean in the rest of the world. Like, look at the sun setting, that’s a perfect place to start. How often does the sky light up in those colors? And look down there. (Cut to an aerial view of the street below) There’s a story to be told with every person walking down the street, every car that passes by, and every face in every window. (Cut back to Arnold) All it takes is to center yourself in the here and now, and you will start noticing the beauty of the mundane. I come up here all the time to meditate or just think - you should try it too.
Helga looks pensive, steps away from Arnold, and looks out at the sunset, listening to the ambient hum of city life and the cooing of pigeons.
Helga:
Why didn’t you just volunteer to write the poem yourself, Wordsworth?
Arnold:
Ehh, I’m more of a visual artist. You’re the most eloquent person I know.
Helga takes a deep breath, then sits on a crate and pulls out her notebook.
Arnold: (flirtatiously)
You want me to leave you alone, Emily Dickinson?
Helga: (while writing intently)
Actually, d’you still have that harmonica? I could use some mood music to help me think.
Arnold pulls a harmonica from his pocket and begins to play a mellow but sweet tune.
Fade to a montage of the other students deciding the things they want to include in the time capsule. Phoebe is at her own desk, surrounded by scientific instruments, as she pulls out a large leaf from her pocket and sets it in a petri dish. Gerald rifles through his CD collection. Rhonda flicks through her closet, examining each outfit. Sid and Stinky are still stuck together by Chinese finger trap; Sid is playing a Game Boy with one hand, while Stinky reads a book titled “How To Escape Chinese Finger Traps.” Harold sits in front of the TV, eating junk food, then pauses to stare at the snack cake in his hand, struck by inspiration.
----
Fade to that Friday, a much cloudier and more inclement day than the first. Mr. Simmons and class are gathered around the same tree under which the first time capsule was buried. Everyone seems to be carrying an item, with the notable exception of Helga.
Arnold:
Are you nervous about your reading, Helga? You’re shivering.
Helga: (snippily)
I’m not nervous, Arnoldo - it’s just that it’s as cold as a penguin’s butt out here and I want to go back inside. And did you even bring anything?
Arnold:
I did, you’ll see.
Simmons:
Okay, class, I hope you’ve all got your special artifacts you want to bury in the time capsule. We’ll start with Phoebe.
In sequence, each student holds up their object, and then we cut to them depositing it in the bin.
Phoebe holds up the leaf from earlier, cast in a transparent resin.
Phoebe:
This is a leaf picked from Mighty Pete, the biggest and oldest tree in the neighborhood. I thought it would be prudent to preserve a sample of this magnificent specimen, since it might be destroyed in the next few decades, so I cast it in resin. What could be more timeless?
Gerald:
This is my copy of Pop Daddy’s landmark album License to Chill , one of my favorite pieces of music, not to mention one of the best-selling albums by a Black artist of all time. Thought the future kids might want to know what tunes were hot around now.
Rhonda:
Similarly, I will be giving up this oh-so-ravishing red satin dress, because not only do the kids of the future deserve to see what fashion looked like, they just might pick up some style pointers of their own.
Sid: (no longer attached to Stinky, but standing beside him)
Since the previous kids put in their favorite toys, I will deposit my copy of Super Castle Fighter Robots III , a video game that I like but that my dad told me he was going to throw away if I didn’t stop playing it every day. Someone will give it a good home!
Stinky:
And I’ll put in this here finger trap doodad, on account of it being a timeless source of fun and bewilderment for kids of all ages.
Harold: (interrupting the flow of the montage)
Hey, that’s not fair! Stinky didn’t think of something new! He just used the same toy we found in the old box!
Simmons:
Actually, Harold, Stinky makes a great point - some things never go out of style. What did you bring?
Harold:
Uh, I got this sponge cake. (He pulls an unwrapped Twinkie out of his pocket) I think a lot of kids like to eat these, plus I hear that they never go bad, so I wanna see if it stays fresh for fifty years.
Simmons:
Very good idea, Harold! Next, Arnold!
Arnold pulls out a photograph of Mr. Simmons’ class, all standing together outside the school.
Arnold:
I thought I’d keep the tradition going by including a class picture. My twist on it, though, is that I added a note on the back, saying that we hope that history remembers us all fondly, apologizing in advance for anything from our time that may seem dated or offensive ( insert shot of Phoebe smiling ), and promising that everyone in this picture was doing their best to ensure a better tomorrow. I think we should all sign the back, as if it really is a letter to the future.
The class seems impressed by this idea, and all gather around to sign the back of the photo. Mr Simmons looks on, bursting with pride.
Simmons:
I have to say, class, you have all made me so glad to be your teacher once again.
Helga: (shouting)
Alrighty then, granola boy, can we get back to class? We’re turning into popsicles out here!
Simmons:
Ah, right, almost forgot! Thank you for reminding me that you have a poem you wanted to recite, Helga.
Helga muscles her way to the front of the group, looking surly as she pulls her notebook out of her coat pocket.
Helga:
Children of the future, hope you enjoy this minutia
A little present from the past, but wait--not so fast!
There’s oh so much more that couldn’t fit within this box:
Mitten soft meadows, migrating bird shadows
The way that ice cream melts, the way the last day of school felt
Tree pollen scattered like gold coins on the sidewalk.
For you see ever since birth, we’re in a time capsule shaped like the Earth
There’s always new places to discover, new trinkets to uncover.
New beauty to be found even in our endless small talk.
As she recites the poem, we pan across the students, all looking very moved. Even the boys shed a few tears. Upon ending her recital, the students all burst into applause. Helga is unbowed as she hands the notebook off to Simmons for interment.
Helga:
...Now, let’s bury this junk and get some hot cocoa.
The students all cheer as Helga leads them back to PS 118. Mr Simmons is left behind, with the time capsule, holding a shovel, looking teary-eyed. He blinks away the tears and cries out in vain for his students to wait for him to bury the box, as we pan up to see the sun poking through the cloudy skies as a rainbow forms.