Cafeteria Confessions: The 2nd Preview

This preview is chapter 15 (Of 18)...

Your Zipper's Stuck

I'm usually an optimistic person, but lately, everything seems so negative around me. People have problems that need to be solved daily. Take for instance: Grandma getting closer to death everyday, Oscar being evicted last Wednesday, the other fourth grader's problems, Helga's problems, Gerald's. Can I really solve them all?

A question I used to ask myself was: Am I doing something worthwhile? Conflicts need to be worked out and somebody has to do it, but people only follow their own interests; what's the point in helping them? How can I help when all they're interested in recieving is the benefit of the doubt? All people want to do is continue on their path of destruction; as long as they're happy, they're satisfied. What will happen when their satisfaction disappears and they want more or start to envy? Who will save them from themselves?

I could understand people feeling the need to be immoral. What they don't understand is they've got to hold onto their positive nature, not their primary. I still believe everyone is capable of becoming more, but if I'm completely honest with myself, the truth is . . . people are frustrating; every single one of them! They're all stubborn; they rarely listen to half of what I say, and they're unwilling to change. It makes me so angry sometimes.

People really have problems, deep problems.

. . . And I don't know what to think about us anymore.

I've purposely put Helga on a rollercoaster in the last week to see if she was true. She's not getting off anytime soon.

She's completely devoted to me. She knows what's going on between us, but I'm afraid I should've kept my mouth shut that day I broke down; I should've hid my feelings for her. It's going to be nearly impossible to restore our normal, primary relationship we had before. In fact, her latter reactions to my real confession are confusing me; she doesn't mind the fact that I don't feel the same way. . .

She has to be hurting, but she's not going to show it. She's such a good actress; she should be on television!
The sad truth to this is that she's going to be. . .

I've got to show her that she means a lot to me. . er, more than what I said to her at least, but how can I show her if how I feel about her is really how I feel? Are my feelings merely based upon my past experiences? If that's true, I'm completely troubled. How did I get myself into this complicated situation?

Helga stood in the front of my stoop with both of her hands on her hips, and a stern expression on her face.

"Hey, Football Head! Do we have all day? Get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to what's going on!"

I roll my eyes at her as I make my way down the steps. She's just as nasty, but somehow it's comforting. Don't ask me why it's comforting; I wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer.

I walk in front of her, and say, "Thanks, Helga."

She nods quickly and takes her hands off her hips.

I'm guessing that she's trying to brush off the awkwardness of my close gaze. Maybe she's trying to ignore the fact that we're so close, or the fact that I'm not stepping away. It's so easy to get to know her when she simply commits. It's not a secret that I know she'll do everything for me.

She narrows her eyes with a daring look. "Whatever. Are we going to get something to eat this evening?"

I finally take notice that she wore her pink dress and bow in these chilly conditions, but where was her jacket?

I sigh at her as I gently put my hand on her left shoulder and look deeply into her blue eyes. "Where's the jacket, Helga?"

She shakes her head with a slight smile on her face, and I'm already afraid of what she's going to say to me.

"The jacket; what jacket? I keep telling you that you need to be more clear, my dear."

I close my eyes at her last sentence as I let go of her left shoulder. Here it comes; the guilt trip.

I blurt out. "Where's that jacket I got you?—"

She grabs my shoulders. "Relax, hairboy; it's at my house."

I narrow my eyes at this new realization; is she crazy. "...You mean to tell me that you walked over to my house, after school, with no jacket on?"

She steps away and crosses her arms. "It's a free country, buddy."

That's true. She always says that to me when she's unwilling to submit. I'm never going to get anywhere if she keeps acting like this.

...But maybe I can use her remark to learn something. Not willingly, but I'm so curious . . . she makes me angry sometimes.

I place my hands on my hips. "If it's a free country; why do we have laws?"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself, and I could feel her eyes burning from behind me as I walked back in the Boarding House.

She mumbled, depressingly. "So idiots like you don't get lost on the streets..."

After a few deep breaths and a few long sighs, I found one of my Grandma's old jackets in the downstairs closet. I spent time contemplating giving away the precious item. In the end, I decided it was for the best and returned outside, with the jacket.

When I returned, I saw she was still looking away from me, and her arms were still crossed.

I held out the jacket to her in desperation. "Please, take it! You're going to get sick, and I don't feel like holding this jacket all evening."

She glanced at me curiously, and must have noticed the worried expression on my face. Less than a moment later, she took the jacket hesitantly from my left hand and wrapped it around her.

She blinked in surprise at me, for some reason, confusing me. She narrowed her eyes and pointed at me, like she caught me doing something I wasn't supposed to. Typical, very typical.

"Where's your jacket?"

I blinked; I couldn't perceive that I comprehended what she said. "Pardon?"

"Arnold-o, you heard me!"

I sighed and shrugged lightly. "I must have left it inside. It's really no big deal."

She turned left and right. I knew she was up to something with me; she wouldn't be looking to make sure nobody was watching us if she wasn't.

She walked past me to go back up the steps. I heard her grab something from behind me, and I didn't know what it was until I heard her innocent and smug voice:

"Lift up your right arm."

I was silent. Geez, she was crazier than I thought. "...I can dress myself, Helga."

I felt her lift up my right arm as she bent over to look sternly into my eyes. "If I wasn't here, you wouldn't even be wearing a jacket this evening—"

"If you weren't here, we wouldn't be doing this!" I was uncomfortable, and yet I was comfortable. This girl is confusing me; I don't even know how to feel anymore!

I heard her growl as she tried to put the jacket on my right arm and then on my left. Her hands were shaking for some reason. I couldn't understand why, since I was closer to her only minutes ago.

A few seconds later, she stomped in front of me and grabbed my jacket zipper. She hooked both ends and tried to pull it up, but was having a slight problem.

I forgot about the awkwardness between us a moment, and reached down to grab her hand along with my jacket zipper. She had to be pulling it the wrong way; why was she struggling so much?

I was frustrated with her little games. "You're doing it wrong—"

"How am I doing it wrong? Your zipper's stuck!" she growled, pulling harder.

"Helga! You're supposed to put it in—Oh, wait a minute, it is stuck."

"Well, no kidding!" she rolled her eyes. "Didn't I just tell you that?"

I sighed and continued to struggle with the zipper. "I know we can get it right if we just work together—"

"Well, obviously! I haven't let go of your zipper yet." She giggled, nervously.

I growled, grabbing her hand and the zipper with more aggression. "Why is this thing stuck? I've never had so much trouble with this!"

She groaned. "Criminy, Football Head, maybe we should forget about it—"

"Wait, I think I've got it!"

Helga and I pull the zipper up until it reaches above my neck. Once the zipper clicks, we both lift our heads up simultaneously to stare at each other in awe.

I can't avert my gaze from her eyes. Why is this happening between us? If this happened last week, I would be all right with it; I would lean into her uncoerced just because I know she would hold me up. I can't help myself when she continues to play this game of promotion; she wants to be superior to me. I hate how she stalks me and acts like I'm too vigorous for her. If I'm stronger than her, why has she started making me feel so weak?

I can feel her warm breath hitting my face. It was soothing before, but now it makes me feel uneasy so suddenly. If she can't feel my left hand going around her neck or my heart beating fast against her, I'd be surprised. I don't know what to think about my confession anymore. Ignoring this isn't an option.

I didn't take my eyes off her as I gently reached my right hand down to zip her zipper up as well.

I needed to gain some leeway. "You're going to get sick, Helga."

She stared flamboyantly as she looked curiously at my worried expression and the left arm that was around her neck. "So are you, Football Head."

I could tell she knew I was up to something. She probably thought I was hiding in spite of her. Quite the contrary; I don't want to hurt her anymore, but she makes the opportunity so hard to resist.

I sigh and whisper to her. "Guess I should take better care of myself, huh?"

She turned away and nodded with a slightly sheepish look on her face.

Now that I know who Helga really is, I don't know what to do with her. . .

"I'm everywhere and I'm nowhere, but mostly I'm everywhere."

- Deep Voice - 9/6/07 (Edit: 4/1/12)