Disclaimer: The characters and situations of My So-Called Life belong to Winnie Holzman, Marshall Herskovitz & Edward Zwick, and ABC America. No infringement intended.
"Only The Good"
Not to say that life is entirely hopeless. Although, mine pretty
much is. No matter how hard I try to change it, everything goes
round in circles. For example, Jordan Catalano.
I don't exactly know how to describe my relationship with
Jordan Catalano. Sometimes, we seem like such total strangers
to each other that there barely *is* a relationship. But other
times . . . we just, connect. It's indescribable, and it's why I
can't seem to get over him. Or, when I do -- or think I have, at
least -- he suddenly can't get over me. Like he was under me or
whatever the whole time, without realising.
In a way, it's like we're locked in a room together, and there's a
light switch that keeps flickering on and off. When it's off, the
only thing I can see is Jordan, the only thing I can do is think
about him, be with him; I'm consumed by him. But then, the
light comes back on, and I realise -- I remember that there's
more to life than just him. I can see the world.
Since I met Jordan Catalano, most of my time has been spent in
darkness. Even after we broke up, even when he slept with
Rayanne Graff, I was still under his spell. Which made the hurt
worse, because it was inflicted by two people I cared about most
-- my best friend, and my . . . well, Jordan. But strangely, it
was after the hurt subsided and I came to terms with what had
happened -- their 'mistake' -- that the light switch turned back
on.
And then there was a black out.
I'm not talking a power surge, where the electricity goes dead
for a second, then immediately returns, leaving all the
appliances reeling until you can be bothered going around and
resetting all their clocks. I'm talking a major setback involving
everything that requires electricity to run. Which is like,
everything. It's the kind of event bound to have an impact on
your life -- and it certainly impacted mine.
"49. Needless to say, I'm extremely disappointed in you, Angela."
Okay, so maybe it's just me, but that seemed an extremely stupid
thing to say, even for a teacher. Ms Lerner admitted that she
didn't need to say it, so why did she? Besides, it wasn't like
she had a reason to be disappointed in me -- I'd been doing badly
in geometry my entire sophomore year.
She tapped the test paper on my desk, as though to draw my
attention to the remark and make me realise that a bad grade in
Geometry meant the rest of my life was doomed. "I expect to
see you attending our review sessions regularly."
Me? Attend Geometry review? "Actually, I'm really sorry, but I
don't think -- I mean, I can't -- er --"
"Be there."
"Sure." A little lie. I have a habit of lying occasionally, to
avoid awkward situations. I get myself into enough awkward
situations as is, without adding arguing with math teachers to
the list.
At that point, fate intervened, deciding that maybe it wasn't the
right time for the worst day of my life just yet, and the bell rang
for end of class. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as Ms Lerner
turned away, and picked up my books to leave. As I stood, a
guy -- one of the brain dead sports jocks that inhabit Liberty
High -- brushed past. Well, when I say *brushed*, that's a total
understatement, because he knocked me flying. My books
dropped to the floor, the papers spilled in all directions, and I
lost my pen. Then, he didn't even have the decency to say
'Sorry', or even glance over his shoulder to see who he'd mown
down in his rush to get out of class.
"Oi." I sighed, and resigned myself to being late for my next
class -- not that I cared, more the teacher would -- while I
regathered my things.
"Need a hand?" It was Abyssinia Churchill. My guardian angel
in all things geometric.
"Yeah, that'd be great." Abyssinia was, as usual, more level-
headed than me, and collected my papers from underneath
nearby desks while I picked up the books. When she handed me
the papers, we both noticed that the top one was the Geometry
test, with my 49 glaring at the world in big, dark red letters.
"Uh . . . so, I guess I'll see you later. At Geometry review?"
Her speech was slightly hesitant, and I think we both knew she
wouldn't. It was ironic, really, that straight-A Abyssinia
actually went to the review, but I didn't. And in both cases, it
was because of our boyfriends. She went so she could be with
Troy, encourage him, and I skipped so I could make out with
Jordan in the boiler room.
"Look, Angela, I know it's none of my business, but . . . don't
waste your life."
Really, what was it with everyone making pointless remarks? I
was tempted to agree that it was, in fact, none of her business,
but Abyssinia had always been nice to me - and if it wasn't for
her, I would have failed my Geometry mid-terms, so I was a
little more civil. "You sound like a teacher."
She was calm. "I didn't mean to. It's just . . . nothing lasts
forever. Once it's over, you still need a life. So don't throw
everything away for him; make sure you get what you want."
She had a point. Like, a definite, sharp, really valid point.
Jordan Catalano had this way of almost dictating what happened
in my life, whether he knew it or not. I guess Abyssinia knew it,
and although she was telling me the same thing as all my
teachers -- pull your grades up, don't throw away your
intelligence -- somehow, it made *sense* coming from her.
I was about to reply -- thank her, maybe -- when I realised she'd
slipped out of the room. I shrugged and went to find my next
class.
As it turned out, despite Abyssinia's words, I didn't go to the
geometry review session. I totally intended to, but on the way I
ran into Jordan. But, it's not like I went to the boiler room with
him or anything. It was just that he had a free period, and
needed help with his English homework, because he skipped his
tutorial session with Brian Krakow. Not that I blame him,
really -- sometimes I wish Brian didn't live across the road from
me, so I didn't have to see him so much. I suppose he's sweet
enough, just one of those horribly annoying, nerdy geeks.
Although, for a horribly annoying and nerdy geek, Krakow was
doing a good job of tutoring Jordan. He got a C- on our most
recent essay, which meant that somehow Jordan was doing
better in English than I was in Geometry. When I realised that,
it sort of hit home how much my grades had dropped. I mean,
it's not like I think Jordan Catalano is stupid -- he's actually
really smart, just somehow he managed to be one of those
students who slips through the cracks and never gets taught.
But I wasn't.
My mind ambled off into deep thought, and it wasn't until I
noticed Jordan looking directly at me with a questioning look on
his face that I came out of my thinking trance.
"So?" He seemed eager, expectant.
"I . . . uh, missed that."
"Are we still on for tonight? You're coming to rehearsal, right?"
"Oh. Oh! I thought you guys split up, because you didn't have a
lead singer any more, with Tino gone."
"No, we're just not the Frozen Embryos . . . we don't exactly
have a name."
"Do you have a lead singer?" I realised that I'd never actually
heard what happened about that, except that Rayanne majorly
froze on stage when she was meant to be the lead.
"Well . . . I'm sort of it. Like, until we find a replacement or
whatever."
Go, my mind screamed. Go, or you'll regret it. Really, Jordan
Catalano singing for the not-Embryos. How could I resist?
"I . . . can't."
Like that, I suppose. After I said it, I heaved a huge sigh. So
did Jordan, and I tried to explain.
"It's my geometry teacher. She's after me to come to all these
review sessions to improve my grades, and I just failed my last
test, so I really need to study tonight. I mean, she's like on the
brink of insanity so if I fail again she might turn homicidal."
Okay, not the entire truth, but close enough. And Jordan was
not impressed.
"Oh. Well, whatever then. I gotta split." He grabbed his books
and practically ran to get away from me.
"Jordan!" Too late, he was already gone. I banged my head on
the desk, wondering if it was worth it. Securing some sort of
life-after-Jordan was apparently only going to make the after
part come sooner.
You shouldn't think like that, I reminded myself. Abyssinia was
right; I can't just drop my whole life because he wants me to.
Not that I'm really into geometry or anything, it's just . . . the
principle. Like me not doing Jordan's homework for him any
more. It's moral.
With that resolved, my morals and I went off in search of Brian
Krakow to find out everything he knew about geometry.
"I am so exhausted, don't even speak to me. Well, okay, you can
speak to me, just don't expect me to speak back." I nearly
collapsed backwards onto the locker next to Rickie's. He was
searching for his script for drama club.
"Tough night?"
I nodded.
"Was the ge -- geometry, right? Was it interesting?"
I groaned. "I can't believe I wasted a whole night on it, when I
could have been with Jordan, watching the -- whatever they're
called rehearse. Did you go?"
"Uh, no. I was -- at Rayanne's."
"Oh." Selfishly, I was glad that what Rayanne and Jordan had
done was harder for them to get over than it was for me. They
still couldn't face each other, though each was on speaking
terms with me. "Well, they don't even have a real lead singer
any more, since Tino left. I doubt it was like, any good or
anything." I often wondered what it must be like for Rickie.
Sometimes we treated him like his feelings didn't matter. A lot
of the time, really. Rayanne was constantly doing things that
drove him nuts through exasperation and worry; I pursued just
about every guy he ever liked.
"Hey, Vasquez!" Rayanne interrupted cheerily. "Have I got a
proposition for --" she paused, as though suddenly realising I was
there. "Oh, Angelica, I'm sorry about your pal Abyssinia."
My first thought was that she'd cracked. My second thought
was that Rayanne rarely says 'sorry', which led me back to the
first thought. "Why?"
"Because she's dead." She sounded so casual, like it was a
passing thought or something. Probably it was.
"Yeah, right. Very funny."
"No, really . . . you hadn't heard?" She looked at me in
disbelief. "Rickie, you knew, right?" Rickie just shrugged in
reply, so Rayanne continued. "She killed herself."
"What?!" It was a mistake. It had to be. Abyssinia would
never . . . well, not that I really knew her, but . . . it had
to be a mistake, or an accident, or, or -- a murder, even.
"It's true. Shot herself in the head like this," Rayanne
demonstrated by forming a pistol with her fist, and pointing it
up under her chin. "Blew half her face off."
"Ew." Rickie's sole comment. I stood there, almost gaping at
them, wondering how they could be so, so . . . blase about it. It
made me feel sick, and I had to get out of there.
"Excuse me." I ran. Blindly, but I knew where I was going.
Outside, behind the sports field, underneath the bleachers.
Jordan Catalano was there; I knew he would be. He heard me
coming, and looked up, mildly surprised.
"Angela."
I don't know whether he was still annoyed at me, but I didn't
care. I just stepped closer him and clumsily threw my arms
around him, half-burying my head in his shoulder. He didn't
say anything, waiting for me to explain what was wrong.
I didn't -- I don't know why, I just couldn't find the words to say
it out loud. Maybe because it still seemed like a bad dream, and
I didn't really believe it. Or didn't want to -- Abyssinia always
seemed to me one of those people who are normal, sane, and
sort of have everything together. Even if they don't have it
together, they at least have everything -- the
smart/popular/funny package, that makes them good at
everything they try. And if they can't find life worth living, who
can?
After a while, Jordan pulled back slightly, twisting his wrist to
glance at his watch. "I've gotta go."
"Oh. Okay." Reluctantly, I withdrew my arms and released
him. In the back of my mind, it registered dully that I should
probably go to class, but I couldn't be bothered. I would only sit
there in a stunned daze, thinking, and I could just as easily do
that where I was. Slowly my knees bent, and I slid to the
ground where I sat, leaning my back against a pole for support.
Thoughts raced through my mind, tripping over each other and
jumbling up all over the place. So many thoughts, pondered for
a second but immediately forgotten as more develop. I don't
know how long I was like that, but I didn't come out of it until
Rickie found me.
"Are you okay?"
I was unsure how to respond. Finally, I forced myself to speak.
"It's just . . . the hugest shock. I mean, she wasn't really my
friend -- I barely knew her. So maybe that's why, you know,
maybe that's why I've got this image of her in my mind that just
does *not* allow for her to do something like that. She just
doesn't seem the type -- not to say that there's a specific type of
person who does it -- but, well, it's almost like she's too perfect,
she doesn't have the *right* to do it. When Rayanne first told
me -- god, this is going to sound really dumb -- but I was just so
determined that it couldn't be true, I tried to convince myself
that it was like, murder or something. Because it doesn't seem
real -- you know like when Rayanne nearly OD'ed, I kept
thinking that it was a dream, a nightmare, but deep down I
knew that was real, the whole time. Strange, frightening, but
real. But this . . . I just want to wake up. Abyssinia has
everything, why would she want to die? Why would anyone?" I
don't know what possesses me when I start talking, but it's like
once I start, once I really start, I can't stop. One thing I've
learnt, though, is that Rickie is the best person to talk to,
because he understands the meaning behind what I'm saying
when even I don't.
"There are a lot of reasons. The world is such a cruel, horrible
place, so much so that some people can't even bear to live in it.
Some are facing problems which seem so unbeatable that they
can't see past them, can't imagine solving them. Or they see
their friends with such terrible problems, they can't think of any
other way to deal with them. Some are lonely, feel like nobody
cares about them, or they can't find a place to belong. Some
have people they care about, but feel those people would be
better off without them."
God, I realised. How blind was I? "Oh, Rickie . . ."
"No. It's a cop out. Those people, Angela, they're selfish, and
short-sighted. If they thought about it, truly thought about it,
from other people's points of view, they'd realise that. Because
for all the reasons they might have to go, they have one to stay."
He paused a beat, then continued quietly. "And that's the people
you leave behind. They never know how much you mean to
them, until something like that happens, so they don't know
how much it hurts."
"No one I know has really died before. Well, there was Sharon's
grandmother, but that was different . . . that was so different.
She was like, old, and sick, and I'm rambling. Thank you," I
smiled slightly, as much as I could manage.
"For what?" he was confused.
"For coming here. For understanding and explaining. For
being Rickie." Leaning forward, I drew him into a hug, holding
him tightly.
"No problem."
I felt better after my talk with Rickie, somehow. Like I was
okay with it, almost; like I could accept it. I don't know why.
Well, that's not quite true. I could accept -- I could accept that
she'd committed suicide, but not that she was dead, which
probably makes no sense, but it's how I felt. Like they were two
mutually exclusive events that just happened to occur to
Abyssinia at the same time.
What Rickie said helped me to see, in a way, why someone
would want to die. I don't think I could ever feel that way or
even understand it, especially now, but . . . I guess knowing how
wrong it was, having someone like Rickie say that -- Rickie,
who lived with his English teacher because his family had
deserted him -- it made it seem more believable. More real.
Death itself, however, I couldn't comprehend. "Death is the
weirdest thing in the world." I can't recall who wrote that, but
they were right -- they were so right. How do you ever get used
to the fact that you're not going to see someone again, ever --
that you can't see them, ever, no matter how much you want to?
That little fact was the one little similarity I could draw between
Abyssinia's death and when Grandma Cherski died - or 'passed',
as Sharon's mom said. In theory, I came to terms with the loss
well, but little things would unnerve me, like eating cookies.
When we were little, Sharon and I would go over to her
grandmother's during summer afternoons, and she'd give us
cookies and ice-cold glasses of chocolate milk. It was a sort of
tradition, ritual, something I took for granted. The same way I
took it for granted that the only empty seats in geometry would
be for slackers who couldn't be bothered attending class, let
alone review.
Thinking about that, I remembered Abyssinia's words to me the
previous day. They'd made me think twice, made me stay up
all night catching up on geometry homework. And after all that
trouble, I'd missed the first 15 minutes of class.
So I went to class. Well, not to *class*, but to the classroom,
and when I got there, Troy was standing by the door, off to the
side so Ms Lerner couldn't see him, looking in the window.
What do you say, I wondered. What do you say to someone
whose girlfriend just shot herself in the head?
"Hey," I tried.
"Oh. Hi. Are you meant to be in there?"
"Yeah. I was kind of thinking, and lost track of time."
"I know the feeling."
I wanted to hug him, do anything to make him feel better.
Instead, I said simply, "I'm so sorry."
He stared blankly into the classroom. "She didn't even leave a
note, you know? Not to me. She wrote one to her parents, but I
can't even read that because the cops have it. I'm so . . . angry."
He looked almost surprised when he said that. I was surprised
he'd said that. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."
"No, I think you did. You deserve to be angry. It isn't fair, or
right. But it happened, you can't change that. And I don't think
you want to stay angry with her, any more than she would have
wanted to hurt you, so it sounds like, really cold and hard but
you have to get past what she did."
"Yeah, right," muttered Troy, cynical. I saw his point - I was
sticking my nose in, I was like one of those people who say 'I
know how you feel . . .' when they really have no idea. So I
tried a new tactic.
"You should have a memorial service."
"Her parents are organising the funeral, once the coroner's
finished with the body."
I shuddered inwardly at his words. Coroner? "No . . . a
memorial, here at school. Remember her the way you knew her
-- the way everyone at Liberty High knew her. As a friend."
"You know what?" he said slowly. "That sounds like a good
idea. Will you help?"
"Me? Oh, no, I hardly knew her."
"But you care. C'mon."
He genuinely wanted me to, I could see that, so I nodded.
"Okay. Deal. You work out what's going to happen, and I'll tell
everyone about it."
So it was organised. I hi-jacked the teacher's Xerox machine - it
was becoming habit, first with my 'illegal' copies of the Liberty
Lit, and now with fliers to announce the memorial. The copier
spit out the final copy just as the door handle turned and
Principal Foster entered the tiny room.
"Good Morning, Miss Chase. Care to tell me what you're doing,
other than not attending classes?"
"Photocopying?"
"Photocopying what?"
I bit my lip, unsure what to do. Then, figuring he'd find out
sooner or later, I gave him one of the fliers. "Photocopying
this."
He took the sheet, glancing it over quickly. "Ah. And were you
aware that it's against school policy to hold such . . . services?"
"What?! Why?"
"The school board doesn't believe that it is in the best interest of
the wider student community to . . . advertise such tragic
occurrences."
"You don't want them to know that she committed suicide," I
translated. Foster shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond
without incriminating himself. "Abyssinia was a good person,
she deserves a memorial. If organising her one earns me a
detention, or a suspension or whatever you want to do to me,
then I don't care. Excuse me." I brushed past, clutching the
fliers to my chest -- whatever else, I wanted to keep them. To
his credit, Foster didn't say a word.
It took me ages, and I crossed every territorial group boundary,
but I posted the fliers in every area of the school so that no one,
no matter where they hibernated, could avoid knowing about
Abyssinia's memorial, despite the short notice. My final stop
was made at the staff offices -- by then, I think Foster had told
most of them what we were up to, but I didn't care. I wasn't sure
who Abyssinia's teachers were, so I stuck a few up in
conspicuous public places before tracking down one particular
teacher.
"Ms Lerner?" I approached her cautiously, unsure of what she
was going to do.
"Angela Chase. And here was I thinking you'd moved out of
town. I guess you just got lost on the way to geometry review . .
. and geometry."
"Uh . . . sort of. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that even
though I didn't go to the review session yesterday, I spent all
night doing homework. I even did all the exercises from the
text book on that chapter that I failed." I handed her the pile of
papers awkwardly.
"Oh!" I'd floored her, completely. She was so astonished she
couldn't speak properly. "Well, I'll -- uh, I'll correct these for
you! Yes, as soon as I can. I'm glad to see -- well, that's
wonderful."
Thank Abyssinia, I thought. "Also, we're holding a memorial
for Abyssinia Churchill tomorrow morning, first period, and it'd
be great if you could come."
"Definitely. I'll be there."
She wasn't the only one, not by a long shot. Hundreds of people
turned up, not all sophomores, not all from Liberty. I didn't
participate in the service -- mostly, it was her closest friends
who gave readings and said poetry -- so I just stood off to one
side, watching everyone.
I think the service moved me more than anything, seeing all
those people there; people who'd known Abyssinia, people who
loved her, people who wished she'd spoken to them, just once,
before she'd committed such a rash act. It was so sad, really,
that that many people came to pay their respects, but she didn't
feel she could speak to any of them about whatever troubled her.
Rickie was right, she couldn't have thought it through, and
known what the consequences of her actions would be. If she
had, she never would have done it. Never. But she didn't
realise what he did -- that the one thing which makes life
meaningful, that the one thing you can never live without is
your friends.
The End.
by Vanessa
[nemesis@graffiti.net]
7 January 1999