Struck Speechless

Arnold had been faithfully sending her letters ever since he moved to San Lorenzo to be with his newly-found parents. Before he had boarded the bus, he'd pulled her aside to promise her that he would write her, and yes, he was a man of his word. She knew that he was also writing to the rest of his former classmates, but she felt especially privileged to be the only one he mailed once every two weeks. He called it his way of "getting to know the real her" and vice versa. Mostly his letters were about San Lorenzo, what it was like to finally have parents in his life again, questions about the health of his grandparents, other classmates, and his eternal thanks to her for her help in finding his parents.

She always meant to write him back -- really, she did. She was just too busy with helping out at the boarding house and her dad's business, and good old Arnold assumed that was the case, so he continued to write her. He once told her that he got enough information about her out of Phoebe anyway to satisfy him, so armed with that knowledge, she tried to feel less guilty about her actions, and it worked...until one day.

It was right after Valentine's Day. She'd been vacuuming herself into despair over the fact that she was, once again, alone on another holiday when Gertie had tapped at her shoulder and surprised her with a card from Arnold. It ended appropriately with Will you be my Valentine, Helga? and at the time she was convinced that it was just Arnold being his usual corny self by using one of the many pre-manufactured lines for the occasion. Secretly however, she'd slept with that card under her pillow for a week until it had almost been destroyed. Then it went into her empty jewelry box.

She knew she should send some sort of "thank you" note, but it was all so...awkward, so she just pushed it out of her mind.

Then the next letter came when she was daydreaming about married life while dusting the furniture. That was when she knew something was wrong, something was different. He was a little saddened by the fact that she hadn't written him after the card, but he'd get over it. She was busy, right?

He ended the letter with: Please write me, Helga. I miss talking to you, and well, I miss you most of all.

She tried, she really did, but when she put pen to paper, nothing came out.

She felt empty, angry, and confused...and so sure that her mind was finally betraying her. Years of being able to rattle off extravagant soliloquies at the bat of an eyelash, and now here she was, ready to perform for her own flaxen-haired muse, but without anything to say.

So she put the letter away with the card and tried to forget both, and she did until the next letter came. And the next letter, and so on.

Each letter was less hopeful and cheery than the previous one. Her beloved Arnold seemed to be settling back down to Earth, losing more and more of the optimistic behavior that she adored and admired. Deep down, she knew she was the cause of his new sullen mood.

Frustrated with herself for doing nothing to fix the problem, she decided to confide in Dr. Bliss.

Big mistake. Dr. Bliss was really, really good at making her recognize and admit the truth. Yeah, yeah...she was doing "it" again, telling herself that Arnold wasn't really interested in her, that he couldn't -- in any possible way ever -- like her back. Her fear of rejection and of having more hurt piled on top of the other wounds outweighed her desire to feel wanted and loved, and it was getting in the way of a possible relationship with Arnold. Again.

But there was a twist, this time. A painful twist to her heart.

Dr. Bliss mentioned another possibility, that perhaps Arnold was trying to cling to something familiar to guide him through an uncertain time in his life, and maybe his feelings weren't the same feelings she had been waiting her whole life to have returned. They were young, after all, and perhaps "true love" wasn't really true love.

That hit her like a ton of bricks. Not that she hadn't thought of that, but to hear it out loud...well, she wasn't prepared. Plus, it reawakened the notion that perhaps Helga's own feelings for Arnold...well, maybe she really had no idea what love was and had been kidding herself all these years.

Dr. Bliss told her to take a chance and write him back. If anything, it would make him feel better.

She just couldn't. There it was, the possibility that Arnold may, indeed, like-her like-her hanging in front of her just waiting for her to reach out and grab it. And she was struck speechless.

His last letter came right before the new school year began. It started out normally, talking about his latest adventures, something funny his dad said to his mom, Phoebe reiterating something stupid Gerald did over the summer, and then he dropped a bomb on her.

I don't think I can write anymore, Helga. I know I've tried to hang on to the belief that you're just too busy with everything to write back, so I apologize for this, but I have to stop. I don't know if it's something I did or if your feelings have changed. I don't understand why you haven't written back, at least once. Just to say hi. I don't get it, but I guess I'll get used to it. Thanks for being a good listener though, as it's been nice to be so open with someone. I can't do that with Gerald. Keep taking care of my grandparents. They have a lot of good things to say about you. Take care of yourself, too, because I know you don't do that very well. Have a good life, I guess, until I see you again. If I see you again.

The letter stays buried with others just like it in that old useless jewelry box. Sometimes she catches herself smacking her hand whenever it draws closer to taking out those letters and rereading them. Every day, she tells herself that today's the day she'll finally find the courage to write him back, but she's just fooling herself. She's still that same mixed-up kid who really believes that she's incapable of being loved, and Arnold deserves better. Maybe one day, she'll finally be able to fully convince herself that's the truth, but until then she can't do it. Words just fail her.