Title of the story and chapter come from William Butler Yeats' poem, "The Second Coming": Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world .

Disclaimer: I don't own "Hey Arnold!" but Craig Bartlett does. Maybe I can trade him?

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Things Fall Apart

Arnold Shortman

English Class

Mr. Simmons

My Life Changing Moment

Before now, I always thought that I would write about my parents. That was definitely life-changing. Even though I was little, I knew that something in my life was missing, something that Gerald and Stinky and the others had that I didn't: parents. Oh sure, I had Grandma and Grandpa, and all the boarders, but it didn't replace the parents I wanted. I grew up not knowing them. Sometimes, I resented them for that. It was like they didn't love me enough to stay. Or that I wasn't enough to love.

Arnold stopped typing momentarily. He hadn't expected to write that.

He deleted it.

After a minute, he undid it and let it stand.

It was harsh, but true, and Mr. Simmons wanted truth, if nothing else.

A couple years ago, I caught my Grandma staring at me strangely, as if she had never seen me before. I thought that maybe she had forgot who I was for a minute, like Nadine said her Grandfather gets. I got scared. When I asked her about it, Grandma gave me a sad smile and said, "Why, Kimba, you just reminded me of your dad just then."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. I couldn't breathe for a minute. Grandma and Grandpa…they just don't talk about them. Especially on THAT day. THAT day, Grandma actually bakes edible pies and calls me nothing but Arnold. Grandpa just disappears, and comes back late at night, wobbling as if he can't walk for some reason. He smells like cigarettes and something else. Sometimes, I can hear him yelling at no one. Other times, I can hear him crying all the way in my room and picture him keeled over on his knees, face in his hands, unable to stand. He only does that when he's alone, but the walls are thin, though. Everyone pretends not to hear it. Even Oskar. I don't know which is worse, the yelling or the crying.

"Why did they leave, Grandma? Why couldn't they just have stayed?" I remember asking her in a strangled voice. I didn't recognize the sound of my voice or the sob that broke free. I didn't feel the tears slip down my cheeks until Grandma moved to wipe them away, or her arms that wrapped me in a warm hug. We stood in silence for a minute

"That's a question only they can answer," she replied after a while.

"Grandma?" I asked timidly.

"Yes Kimba?"

"Sometimes…sometimes I wish I was just like the other kids," I admitted. "Is that bad?" I didn't want to look at her. Grandma hugged me tighter. "Kimba," she said, "Things are rough all over."

I never forgot that. I thought that maybe she was just saying that to make me feel better, even though I didn't really know what she was talking about. I think that it wasn't until now that I really understood what she was saying.

Arnold stopped and reread what he wrote. His fingers hovered above the keys, hesitating. They moved, flowing quickly before he could change his mind.

That's why I want to write about Helga.

Arnold paused again, wondering where to start. He sat for a minute, and then looked at the length of pink ribbon on his desk. He rubbed it, feeling the smooth satin between his fingers. If he smelled it, he knew it would flood his nose with the scent of lavender and vanilla…and, for whatever reason (he was probably making this up), very faintly of pork rinds. Arnold smiled, stretched out his arms, shook his hands, and settled in to type his story.

Looking back, things began to fall apart after the neighborhood was saved…

Sorry if the spacing and formatting is off; I am still trying to figure it out. Sooo...interested? On the edge of your seat? Or at least rubbing your hands in anticipation? Questions and comments are greatly appreciated...so review! This is my first fanfic and I need all the constructive criticism I can get. Especially about this spacing issue =]

Extra brownie points to those who can spot a hidden literary reference!