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Late one Christmas Eve, winter clouds loomed low as Arnold walked home after some last-minute shopping. The small, unassuming gift bag he was carrying contained presents for his grandparents, bought with money he had earned and saved by being frugal with his allowance and working part-time at Mrs Vitello's flower shop.
As he walked, he kept fretting over how to smuggle his haul undetected into the boarding house. After all, Christmas was all about the surprise of receiving one's gifts on the morning: why should Grandma and Grandpa be denied partaking in that occasion?
KLANG!
His plotting and strategizing were interrupted by the sharp, hollow metallic reverberations from inside the alley he was passing. Someone was throwing stones at a dumpster, and even money, he knew who it was.
KLANG!
Indeed, there was Helga, letting off steam in her own, unique way—pitching stones at her target with unerring accuracy. Her back was turned toward him; she was unaware of his presence. Common sense, therefore, would dictate that he leave her be and go about the rest of his day.
"Hello, Helga," he greeted.
As cordial and unthreatening as Arnold's greeting was, Helga's reaction was decidedly more feral. In an instant, her back shot bolt upright as if someone had poured Arctic seawater down her spine. "What the wha—" she sputtered, turning to face her soon-to-be-deceased assailant. Even through her thick winter ensemble, it was clear that she was primed and ready with bristling skin, hair standing on end, and a stone prepared to cut short the life of the poor, unfortunate soul who just disturbed her reverie.
Such was her heightened state of alert that not even recognizing Arnold put her at ease.
"DON'T SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT, FOOTBALLHEAD!" she yelled.
"And a good evening to you too, Helga," Arnold responded, his smile warm and his tone unapologetic.
"What do you want, anyway?" Helga followed up, her voice less excitable, her tone no less wary.
"I heard the stones hitting the dumpster and I thought—" he began explaining before being cut off.
"And where exactly did you hear it from?" Helga cut in to continue her third degree. "From your room?"
"No?" Arnold responded. "I just happened to pass by when—"
"A LIKELY STORY!" Helga triumphantly proclaimed as if she'd caught Arnold in a telling lie. "Admit it, you've been stalking me, then!"
"Of course not!" Arnold countered, his voice raised. "I really just—"
"WILL YOU CUT IT OUT?" A booming voice echoed from a high-level window on a surrounding building, "SOME OF US WANT OUR PEACE AND QUIET HERE!"
"Criminy!" an exasperated Helga loudly exclaimed. "All I wanted was a moment of peace, and here you come and ruin it!"
"YEAH?" the voice challenged. "WELL, GO FIND IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!"
As further encouragement, the voice's bearer threw an old boot at the young duo, missing them by some distance. Regardless, they were spurred into a hasty retreat. "Oh jeez!" Helga lamented as they made tracks. "That was my favorite dumpster, too!"
They were seated on a nearby park bench, having put what they hoped was a safe distance between them and their complainant.
"Well, I hope you're satisfied, Paste-for-Brains!" scolded Helga. "All you had to do was walk on by, but it seems even that is beyond that tiny hamster wheel you call a brain!"
"Sorry about that," Arnold replied. "But I couldn't just walk by without saying hello."
He just wanted to say hello? To me?
Despite Helga's outwardly gruff, combative appearance, her mind was doing jubilant flip-flops and somersaults, all because the footballhead had gone out of his way to greet her. The parade of joy stampeding through her mind left her so dazed with happiness that, for once, she was struck silent—her usual snark replaced by a goofy, half-lidded hush.
"Helga, are you OK?" Arnold asked, peering at her with concern, his face mere inches from hers. His proximity brought Helga crashing back to earth, and suddenly she was scrambling for an excuse.
"Oh, yuck!" she yelped, shoving him away. "Get your cooties away from me! It's bad enough I'm forced to endure your stupid face! I don't need to be that close to it!"
Arnold didn't resist her actions. He allowed himself to be placed at an appropriate distance from Helga. "I was just worried," he explained. "You looked like you were spacing out or something."
He was concerned about me! He cares about me!
Inside Helga's mind, the parade of joy had been joined by a loud, festive fireworks display, each burst more dazzling than the one before it. Still, pride dictated that she not vocalize her inner glee.
"Please!" she barked. "As if I'd sink so low that I'd need your pity of all things!"
"OK," Arnold nodded back, unfazed by her belligerence. "Why not let me buy you some roasted chestnuts instead?" Without waiting for her inevitable protest, he sprang from the bench and hurried toward a nearby vendor, leaving Helga momentarily speechless in his wake. Helga watched as Arnold negotiated with the vendor, who was closing shop for the night. The vendor appeared unmoved until Arnold pointed him toward Helga, eliciting a nod, a smile, and a paper cone stuffed almost to bursting.
Helga realized that she had every opportunity to make tracks while Arnold was away, yet she couldn't. Her legs wouldn't budge, no matter how loudly her brain was blaring at them to get a move on. So when Arnold returned bearing his gift, she could only accept it with a rueful scowl. She was about to tuck in when she noticed that Arnold had only brought one cone.
"Where's yours?" she asked.
"I only had enough left for one cone," he confessed.
Bless his sappy, selfless heart! Even when down to his last nickel, he still puts others first!
Helga's latest inner monologue played inside her head, threatening to render her overtly lovestruck. She had to cut off this next onset of mushiness.
"Here!" she said brusquely, shoving the cone toward him. "Helga G. Pataki is no one's charity case! Either we share, or I toss this!"
And so they sat in silence, munching on roasted chestnuts and basking in each other's presence.
"So…" Arnold ventured. "What are your plans for Christmas?"
Maybe it was the magic of the moment, or the quiet comfort in the air, but Helga's answer came more naturally than either she or Arnold would have expected. "Oh, the usual. Stuff myself during a Christmas table groaning with festive fare with family that'll be all over my overachieving big sister. I swear, if not for the gifts, I'd call Christmas a colossal waste of time."
Arnold wanted to protest her assertions, but Helga, having anticipated his response, swiftly interjected.
"I already know what you're going to say, so don't bother," she remarked, firmly yet not combatively.
"But Helga," Arnold tried protesting. "I'm just saying that—"
"I get it," Helga interjected once more. To her surprise and his, her timbre was critical but calm, even as she continued. "I'll be having lunch with my parents, while yours will still be missing."
"All the more reason to be grateful for—"
"Listen, Footballhead," Helga broke in once again, her voice gentler, bordering on considerate. "How do you know it'll be all sunshine and roses if they come back?"
The quiet that followed was proof enough that Helga's point had struck home. "For all you know," she continued, "they may end up being like my parents, maybe even worse."
Looking back, Helga understood her remarks were shaped by realism, not cruelty, straddling the narrow line between candor and empathy. Regardless of her intent, Arnold appeared wounded upon hearing them.
"But…for what it's worth, Footballhead," she quickly moved to restore the joyous mood, "if anyone deserves to find out one way or the other, it's you."
At that, he smiled faintly.
"And also," she continued, "there's no way they'll be any worse than mine."
His smile deepened, and all he could manage was, "Thanks, Helga."
Helga found herself drawn to his sincerity, which on any other day she'd write off as naivety. Determined not to let her feelings show, however, she shook her head and forced herself back to her usual brusque demeanor. "Yeah, well?" she challenged. "Don't get used to this softer side, Bucko! In fact, you have until midnight tonight to forget any of this happened!"
Despite her tone, she found it in her to run her hand throught his hair, playfully mussing it. And Arnold—ever the accommodating sap—maintained his smile as he replied, "Whatever you say, Helga."
They lingered in comfortable silence, punctuated by their low, appreciative hums that underscored the nutty goodness of their treats. Soon enough, the chestnuts were no more, the vendor had long departed, and the two blondes found themselves alone in the park. Alas, it was also time to part ways.
"Well, that's it, Footballhead," said Helga, trying to sound more relieved than overjoyed. "Thanks for the treat, and remember…"
She let her voice trail ominously for a beat before continuing. "After midnight, none of this happened."
Arnold shook his head with a soft smile, refusing to let her words erase the moment. "Merry Christmas, Helga. Don't worry, I'll remember."
"Merry Christmas, Arnold," echoed Helga as she watched him walk away. When she was absolutely sure she was finally alone, only then did Helga G. Pataki let her bottled-up happiness spill out.
"YES!" she exclaimed, launching into an exuberant, balletic repertoire. She spun through a pirouette, soared into a grand jeté, and swept into a sauté plié, her movements flowing seamlessly into a sustained châné sequence. At last, a pas de chat culminated in a glorious saut de chat—all punctuated by her whoops and hollers, each leap and spin accompanied by joyful shouts that echoed through the night.
Breathless from her jubilant dance, Helga paused, convinced she was alone—her laughter fading into the silent, empty night. The sudden, solitary handclap startled her, its sound echoing with unexpected force, magnified by the emptiness around her. In that moment, the applause made her realize she had not been as invisible as she believed.
"Whoa!"
Arnold stood in the shadows, his eyes wide with wonder. At his feet lay the gift bag he had dropped, momentarily forgotten.
"Why are you still here?" Helga demanded, her voice oscillating between bravado and embarrassment. "How long were you there? How much did you see?"
"So beautiful," Arnold breathed, stepping forward, his face the very definition of awestruck.
"Wait! Don't come any closer!" Helga insisted, her attempt at control faltering. Yet Arnold's admiration was as gentle and unwavering as his approach. Helga knew she could run—she was the faster sprinter, after all.
And yet…
She remained, ensnared by the sincerity in his emerald gaze. He wasn't intimidating her; he was seeing her.
Acknowledging her.
Appreciating her.
"Helga, that was beautiful!" Arnold praised once he reached her. "I didn't know you could move so gracefully!"
"Please…just go, Arnold," begged Helga, struggling to maintain eye contact. "You…you weren't meant to see any of this," she continued in a low, almost inaudible whisper. "That wasn't me. That wasn't the real me. Please…just leave me be."
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Not after seeing Helga—fierce, stubborn Helga—move with such poetic grace. It felt as if he'd stumbled upon a secret only the night was meant to keep.
"I can't just walk away, Helga," Arnold explained as he continued approaching her. "Not now, not when I've seen the beauty you're hiding."
One gentle step followed another, onward and onward, hands open at his sides, his posture radiating quiet awe—making it clear he meant no harm, only that he was drawn to the inner radiance he somehow always knew she possessed.
Helga couldn't avert her eyes. She couldn't recoil as he reached her and embraced her tightly, resting his head against her body. Once she felt the warmth and honesty of his touch, all resistance—all her fears—melted away, leaving her bold enough to return his embrace so that her beautiful inner warmth could meld with his. It was an embrace that seemed to suspend time itself, the two of them clinging not just to each other, but to the fleeting magic of the moment they were sharing.
Arnold eventually broke their silence.
"Star of wonder, star of light," he softly lilted. "Star of royal beauty bright."
His voice made Helga find hers. "What's the deal, Footballhead?" she asked, peering skyward. "Have you seen the cloud cover? There's no star to be seen tonight!"
"Who says I was singing about the stars?"
Helga looked back down at Arnold to find his eyes fixed squarely on her, his smile conveying nothing but affection. A flash of rouge flushed her cheeks, reminding her that for all her rhetoric to the contrary, she, too, wasn't immune to tender appreciation.
"Well, don't forget the deal," she reminded Arnold. "After midnight, we forget any of this ever happened."
"I get it," Arnold replied. "But why make it easy? Where's the fun in that?"
"So…you're OK with this?" Helga asked, her confidence over the arrangement suddenly wavering.
"Only if you are, Helga," Arnold staunchly replied. "Only for as long as you are."
"That's right!" she proclaimed, her confidence suddenly restored. She then quickly—but not harshly—released herself from Arnold's embrace to triumph further, "I'm Helga G. Pataki, and what I say goes!"
"And I wouldn't want you any other way," Arnold added as a complement. "Merry Christmas, Helga."
With that, he turned and walked away to retrieve the gift bag he had dropped. Having accomplished that, he paused and looked back, offering Helga a warm smile over his shoulder and a final, lingering wave goodbye.
He had begun his jaunt back home when he heard Helga's voice: "Hey Arnold!"
He turned back in time to see Helga closing in on him with purpose. She had barely reached him when she placed a hand on his cheek, the better to hold him steady as she planted a kiss plum on his lips. Arnold's rapid-fire blinking spoke volumes of his initial surprise, before his acceptance set in, followed shortly by his reciprocation.
For reasons he couldn't immediately pinpoint, being kissed by Helga—and kissing her back—didn't feel weird. It felt…right. It felt like it was meant to be. And the more their lips touched, pressed, and caressed, the more he felt himself getting lost within waves of electric bliss.
The kiss ended with a soft, unmistakable smack, leaving both Arnold and Helga staring at one another in a breathless, giddy daze—caught between surprise and delight.
"You have a point, Footballhead," Helga smirked. "Why make it easy?"
As they went their separate ways, they mulled over the moment they had shared, which they had vowed to forget once the clocks struck Christmas. The next time they crossed paths, things would return to their usual rhythm—she'd torment him, and he would act bemused.
And through it all, both would long for more moments like the one they'd just had. And one word would play through both their minds.
Someday…
(Hopefully not) THE END