It's a Wonderful List
Daria is the property of Viacom / MTV Networks. This work is strictly for the entertainment of Daria fans. All characters are fictitious. Initial dialogue taken from 'Esteemsters' episode.
Many thanks to Zetor for the beta-read and suggestions for improvement.
Mr. O'Neill wound down the teen self-esteem class with the confidence of a teacher with only a couple minutes left in his session, "And so, for tomorrow, I want you to make a list of ten ways the world would be a sadder place if you weren't in it."
An attentive, loyal teen listener needed clarification, "Oh, Mr. O'Neill, Mr. O'Neill?!"
Mr. O'Neill consulted his inadequate seating chart before giving up, "Yes, um... you."
"Is that if we'd never been born, or if we died suddenly and unexpectedly?" The boy asked eagerly.
Mr. O'Neill's finely aimed finger guns struck confidence in the heart of the lad, "Never been born. See you all tomorrow!"
Mr. O'Neill looked up as he heard a couple lingering students approach his desk. He could not recall their names and had already put away the seating chart. In these situations he knew it was best to act confident and helpful, get them out of the way and then a soothing bath with boysencranstraw candles alight awaited.
"Hi! Did you need clarification on something we covered today?"
The short one began in a confident tone, "We feel really good about ourselves."
Lean, tall girl got right to the point. "We want to take the graduation test."
"Well! I'm glad your self-image meter is on the uptick! But there's still three more weeks of class left."
The girl with the heavy eyeglasses plowed ahead, "This first week has been a real eye-opener. It must be the way you teach."
Mr. O'Neill was warmed by the student's comments as though the bath and candles were already a soothing balm for his tired body and soul, "Oh, well... thank you very much."
He addressed the taller girl in the red jacket, "You know, you look familiar somehow..."
The green-blazered one persisted, "So can we take the test?"
DM JL DM JL DM JL DM JL DM JL
Jane and Daria trudged home not saying much before pausing at the walk leading to Casa Lane's front door.
Daria opened, "We're the featured attractions day after tomorrow, our humiliation will be complete."
"Yeah, but we're both out of teen self-abuse—I mean self-esteem—class. UFO convention and afternoons of pizza and bad TV await. Oh, and I might get a little more painting and running in too."
Daria and Jane nodded at each other. Each clearly was thinking about something deeper than newly freed time in the afternoons. Jane broke the silence and ventured the topic.
"That was the dumbest assignment I've ever heard O'Neill give."
As Daria nodded Jane continued, "Dumb and really potentially damaging. My art makes the world a happy place in more ways than ten but suppose those other bozos can't come up with more than one or two reasons for their miserable existences?"
"Jane, your assessment of them alone would bolster their self-esteems. But yeah, nobody's that essential to the world."
"Yep," Jane grew thoughtful. "Well, except maybe Goya and Jackson Pollock. But that doesn't mean that teens should fret about how much joy or misery they bring to the planet just by existing. I think."
"Yeah," Daria agreed. "The universe doesn't work like 'It's a Wonderful Life'. And O'Neill's definitely no angel although I'd like to help him to the heavenly gates right now."
Both girls cast their eyes down as though the white sidewalk slabs were inscribed with the answers. After a moment Jane stepped onto the Casa Lane walk and paused.
"I think I need to write some things down," she told Daria.
"Me too. But you're not going to commit ten wonderful things about Jane Lane to paint and canvas?" Daria asked her new friend.
Jane chuckled, "There's more than ten, but no, the old notebook needs a good pencil whipping for this one. That is if I can find a pencil."
Daria nodded. Both girls took a couple steps on their way before turning and addressing the other plaintively.
"Jane."
"Daria."
Daria had only known Jane for a few days; surprisingly she felt like she'd discovered someone she knew and had liked for ages, quite an unfamiliar feeling for Daria Morgendorffer. She rubbed the back of her head before continuing.
"Um, you're not going to do anything crazy over this assignment, right? I'm doing it as an exercise for my writing skills more than anything else."
"Nah," Jane assured her. "I'd never forgive myself if I did something dumb over O'Neill's assignments. Well, change that: eventually we will have to do something dumb for O'Neill's assignments. Don't worry about me; how about yourself, Morgendorffer?"
"Same here. I'm made of sterner stuff." Daria gave her a small smile. "So share our lists tomorrow, Lane? I'll bring the tissues for you to bawl your eyes out."
"It's a date." Jane smiled back.
DM DM DM DM DM
Daria shifted at her desk and loosened her hold on the pen she had selected for its smooth blue-ink flow and comfort grip. She rolled her shoulders and head and stared down at the sheet which was empty of anything except the narrowly-spaced blue lines it came with.
She sighed and got up. After a couple circuits of the room she paused before her closet's open door. Three copies of her signature look hung in easily accessible spots: green blazers, tees in shades of dull yellow, and pleated black skirts just short enough to qualify as mini. A couple pairs of high-quality but plain jeans and several black tees hung deeper in the closet. Even deeper were thrift-store finds, prized by her but drab enough to even bring her otherwise clueless father to suggest that Daria upgrade a bit.
She recalled the inept way Quinn had tried to hide the latest credit card statement from her parents; the surreptitious way she had brought it to her parents' attention and the satisfying Quinn-chewing-out over dinner. Tomorrow's special expedition to Cashman's would see the return of many items to their racks. Daria nodded to herself and sat down taking up her pen.
"Because I was born Quinn has less money to spend on supposed high-fashion. That surely makes the world a happier place."
Daria smiled tinily then just as quickly frowned. She ripped the sheet off its spiral binding and took no notice of the perfect, nothing-but-air waste basket shot she made with its crumpled form. She heard Quinn in the hall.
"Daddy, can you help me? I have to memorize part of The Declaration of Independence. I think that's something Congress or somebody did last year after they talked to the English about it. I'm up to 'life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness…' I don't see how you call yourself an American and agree with that part after you said I have to return my shoes and purses. Cashman's is such a great store and when I mentioned I'm the new vice-president of the Fashion Club they showed me all the best deals."
Daria heard her father cheerily agree and the two move off to Quinn's room. Her pen moved over a fresh sheet.
"Because I was born one more American is here to fulfill the sacred directions of our Founding Fathers to be happy. Now if I could only figure out how."
Seconds later another perfect shot sent a crumpled sheet into the basket.
Daria brightened and gave the fresh sheet a half-smile.
"Because of me, Beavis and Butt-head earned a B on a science project."
The smile turned into a half-frown as she tore the sheet free; gave it three folds and buried it deep in her sock drawer.
A half-hour later she sighed, dropped her pen on a blank sheet, sat up and pinched her nose at the bridge. She shook her head at the sit-com worthy sight to her side: waste paper basket overflowing with crumpled sheets. Upon her return from the bathroom, Daria sighed as she sat down, determined to make some progress.
"Damn O'Neill and this stupid idea. Why do I feel I need to write this out? Doesn't everybody feel worthless sometimes? This assignment is going to wreck my self-esteem before I can do the proper damage myself."
"Come in," she said without thinking when she heard the enthusiastic knock at her door which she knew signaled her father.
"Dammit, I usually give my tormentors fair warning of possible harm before I let them in. This project is really distracting me."
Jake Morgendorffer stuck his head in the doorway, the farthest he often came into her room ever since he once saw one of her bras draped over a chair.
"Hi kiddo. Oh, sorry, I mean Daria. I don't want that 'kiddo' bit to hurt your rising self-esteem. You're almost a woman now. I mean thanks for helping me cook tonight. No one but you, kiddo, can make such tender liver and onions. And the way you roast parsnips! Like candy! Garlic mashed potatoes with skin on, yum! Don't know why nobody but you and me cleaned their plates."
Daria fixed her father in a stare most people would have given the adjective 'baleful' to but which her family knew meant she was attentive. She favored him with a tiny smile which made Jake grin.
"Thanks, Dad and you're welcome. Tomorrow let's do braised beef tongue with caramelized brussels sprouts. I know those are Quinn's favorites."
Jake beamed wider and gave her a thumbs-up before heeding his wife's call to take care of the dishes.
Her head jerked as she made a sudden conclusion. A few short minutes later the paper had ten lines of careful printing. Daria stood and gazed at the sheet in appreciation a few moments before heading to Quinn's room.
"Volunteering to do something nice for Quinn. Must get. Head examined. Maybe it'll prepare her for the beef tongue, yeah, she won't know what hit her. Well, here goes."
"Quinn," she paused at her sister's open door. "Do you want some help with your piece? I can give you some memorization tips."
Despite Quinn's incredulous stare Daria moved into the room. "No, it's not a trick and I don't want money, Lord help me. Let's just do it before I realize how insane I've become."
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Jane adjusted the layout of the finely sharpened Black Mirado Warrior No. 2 pencils on her desk. For the fifth time? Who was counting? That necessitated moving the sheet of lined acid-free paper again. She sat back and admired the display. Jane turned her head to look at a few crumpled wads of lined acid-free paper in her waste-paper basket.
One entry had made it into the recesses of her sock drawer after being carefully folded three times: "The world is a happier place for the old guys playing chess in Walnut Street park when I run by. Must find alternate route to Agony Hill."
Of the sad, discarded wads most had some variation of a theme: "Hey, my art makes and will make the world a happier place than if little Janey wasn't here to produce it."
Jane knew her art was good; sure, she knew she had things to learn but she knew she had talent. She also knew as yet she was an unknown high-school student, aspiring artist. Who knew what could happen yet? And very few people had seen her art, almost no one whose opinion she could trust as both objective and worthy of judgment.
Her parents praised her art but then, that's what parents were supposed to do, right? Trent, Daria, Ms. Defoe? They liked what they saw but how pure and valid were their opinions no matter how much Jane valued what they said?
So there she was contemplating how to arrange artfully for the sixth time the ten Black Mirado Warrior No. 2 pencils. She sighed and got up to look out the window into Casa Lane's backyard lit by the setting sun of a picture perfect evening which she should be spending running.
Jane smiled as a light breeze rustled the leaves of the big white oak.
"Trent in a tent under the tree."
As she returned to her desk and picked up a pencil, Jane's smile stayed on happily as she wrote,"Without me around Trent would have spent more time in the tent. Probably caught pneumonia and kicked the bucket come cold weather."
She remembered that six month period when she was what? Seven? Yeah, about that. She had brought apples, PBJ's and bologna sandwiches with mayo, mustard, lettuce and tomato out to the tent. She had begged him to come in because she wanted someone in the house to play with her and treat her as something other than a minor inconvenience (her other siblings) or with benign neglect (her parents). Mostly because she was worried about him. What would he do when it got cold? Wasn't he lonely? How could he go to the bathroom whenever he needed? What if there really were monsters in the dark?
Jane's mind was turning down side-streets she normally kept well away from.
"Okay, so maybe me begging him to come in meant less than Trent just getting worn out from the 'rents' obliviousity, er, cluelessness. And it was getting colder. Winter in a tent in Maryland? He could see that would be no fun. They would have let him freeze to death before interfering with realizing his actuality."
As she looked out the window at the oak again a thought rolled down the street in her mind, "Trent probably would have been happy if Dad had gone out to the backyard and yelled and called him a dumbass and made him come in."
Jane paced the room slowly.
"So what is napping is his favorite indoor/outdoor sport? Trent's got more feeling for people than my other sibs put together."
She stopped abruptly.
"He's staying here for me. I knew that, yeah, I knew that but I never really thought it out before. If I wasn't here what would he do? Probably outta Lawndale and I bet he'd find his way better than Penny or Wind or Summer. And if Trent wasn't around to take care of me?"
Jane focused on her latest easel project; it had nothing to do with her thoughts but she didn't want to look at that oak again.
"I'd be an inconvenience to Mom or Dad as they traveled around taking pics or learning new ways to mess with clay. A little kid or worse, a whining teen tagalong. If I was with Summer, she'd make me chase her kids around. Aunt Jane the Jailer."
Jane shuddered and didn't pursue the thought of living with Penny or Wind. She made a few more circuits of the carpeting ending up in front of the ten Black Mirado No. 2 pencils and sheet of lined acid-free paper.
"Damn O'Neill and his stupid project. Daria's right; the universe doesn't work that way. Poor Janey, hell, poor Trent. We paint with the colors we got. We live with the people we got."
Her head jerked a bit and she smiled then. Sitting down, she wrote out ten lines using a single pencil for each line.
"How can anyone sleep on their tummy?" Jane wondered a few minutes later as she looked down at Trent snoring on top of his bed in the still-early evening. "Must be a guy thing. No boobs."
Jane smiled as she noted her brother was wearing the clean green tee and clean jeans she had laundered that morning. She reached down and gently shook him.
"Trent, Trent. Wake up."
She jumped back as Trent shot up, eyes wide and unfocused.
"Honest officer, had I known…what? Huh? Janey?"
"Trent, sorry to wake you. I gotta tell you something."
"It's okay, Jane," he drawled. "You gotta wake up some time to take another nap later."
Jane almost forgot what she wanted to say with the force of his logic. But she smiled.
"I just want to say, uh, well, let's talk about your hopes and dreams sometime. Okay? God, that sounds corny but I mean it."
"Sure Janey, right now, I'm kinda hoping I can get back to her, er, my dreams."
"Sure Trent, sweet dreams, prince."
Trent flopped back and almost instantly resumed snoring, on his back this time.
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After close of school the following day, Jane and Daria took up space on the pleasant green lawn outside the library instead of heading to more pleasant activities like the majority of students. Cries from the ever-practicing football squads wafted over as they looked at each other in mild embarrassment.
Jane broke the silence first, "Okay, spill. What ten reasons does the universe have for doing handsprings that Daria Marie Morgendorffer is here?"
Jane immediately reddened, "Sorry, Daria. I still think it's a dumb, dangerous assignment in the wrong hands. We don't have to do this."
For the first and as Jane would remember about the last time Daria stammered in hesitation, "I…I think it's…it's, uh, dumb too, Jane, but…"
Daria gathered energy from some snark then, "I mainly don't want to feed that overbearing, already massive ego of yours, Lane."
Daria looked down and occupied herself with tugging gently at the grass. Jane could think of ten snappy comebacks but the lawn drew her attention too.
"Daria, how about we exchange lists; read 'em quick and promise to never speak of it again?"
"That's a given. Is it necessary to swear a blood-oath? I'm kind of a pain wimp."
Both girls reached into their backpacks and passed a single folded sheet to the other. As though synchronized they unfolded the papers and their eyes widened as they read.
On the paper Jane scanned was printed ten times over on separate lines in precise, square, even block letters as though it had been done on the Lawndale's Sun-Herald printing presses: "JANE".
Daria was looking at 'DARIA' rendered ten times in perfectly painterly strokes, each line subtly different.
Each girl nodded before folding the sheet and putting it in her backpack.
"We shall never speak of this again," Daria pronounced. "You know strictly speaking we failed O'Neill's project at least the letter of it. And I'm proud of that. It gives me the confidence I need to stand proudly before the assembly tomorrow and proclaim, 'I am.'"
"We didn't just fail it," Jane averred. "We made it better."
Jane bit her lip before continuing in a smaller voice, "But, Daria, isn't it, uh, isn't it, I don't know, kind of dangerous to hang your happiness so much on another person?"
She attempted to joke, "I mean, me, sure, I'm tough, but you're a fragile flower of a child."
Daria scowled mightily, an expression which Jane concluded meant she was giving the matter deep thought.
Daria blew out a big breath, "Even I don't want to overthink this one, Jane. Pizza? My treat. Is there a good joint around here? We're closer to New York so the pizza must be better than Highland, Texas. Of course the uranium filings in the dough gave it a certain piquancy."
Jane's eyes brightened. "Yeah, there's a decent joint nearby. Can't believe I haven't corrupted you yet with the tender variety of burnt toppings and sauce. So, pizza, your treat. Garlic bread and Meta-Mega Gulps of Ultra-Cola, my treat."
Jane hopped up and Daria took her extended hand as she arose. The two slipped on their backpacks and sauntered into the sunset.
THE END
I'm not totally happy with the Daria list section here which Zetor rightfully pointed out is not as strong as Jane's list writing. It seemed the more I wrote about Daria the more I was making her seem like a whiny, overly self-piteous teenage; although I support a teen's right to be whiny and overly self-piteous as needed. Maybe this is more Jane's story than Daria's but Daria needs to be covered too.
In my first draft Zetor pointed out that Daria helping Quinn came out of the blue. I tried to rationalize it a bit but it still seems weak; however, I'm leaving it in. Somehow, weak as the passage is it feels right to me.
Anyway, hope you enjoy. Constructive comments always welcome.