I guess when you really look hard enough, you'll be able to see that life isn't all about success and fame. Or popularity.
But maybe I'm just saying this because I'm none of those things.
Who am I kidding? Whether or not life is about success, fame or popularity, they're all still important. I say this because it's true. I say this because I see Amy.
Amy Abbott. You don't know her? Come on, I'm sure you do. She's your typical popular girl; perfect blonde hair, perfect skin, perfect life. There's an Amy Abbott in every single one of our lives. But maybe I'm being judgemental. Maybe her life isn't perfect. But I only know what I can see.
Sigh. I'm being such a sour grape. I don't hate Amy at all. I really don't. It's just that I wish he'd look at me the way he looks at her. The way that she takes for granted.
By 'he' I mean Ephram Brown. I don't know what it was about him that caught me at first. Actually, he didn't catch my attention at all in the beginning; I was too work-oriented to notice such things as boys. What with my scholarship programme needing me to perform "With Excellence" and all, I didn't have much time to, you know, just relax and basically be a teenager. The thought of being stuck in tiny little Everwood and living the life of my parents makes me itch with claustrophobia. No way. After finishing up in this small town, I'm going to college in the city, which is what this whole scholarship thing is about in the first place.
Anyway, what first caught my attention about him was his essay. Being the geek that I am, the teachers had automatically appointed me as Teacher's Pet. But not just one. ALL of them. I didn't ask for it, but seeing that my social life couldn't get worse than it already was, I didn't protest or rebel or anything of the sort. No, I had bigger dreams.
So I was collecting everyone's English essays as usual when the bell rang signaling that class was over. To my dismay, the teacher Mrs Hemingway dismissed the class even though I hadn't finished collecting, leaving me to pick up the essays they'd conveniently left on their desks. Well, perhaps that wasn't so bad, because I was able to go around collecting their papers with ease instead of feeling like a sore thumb moving around everyone's desks.
"Take your time Hana," Mrs Hemingway had said packing up her things, smiling as if she knew that I'd be happier doing this during my break time than actually going to the cafeteria where an empty table awaited me. Just as I arrived at Ephram's table though, a breeze came in through the window and blew his essay to the floor. I bent down to pick it up, and the heading caught me.
"My Fatal Flaw, by Ephram Brown".
Just that. My curiousity was piqued instantly. I knew Ephram Brown alright. He was the New Kid. The one no one bothered about just because he was. I guess that's the way of all schools right? It's like this unwritten Social Etiquette. Everyone's got their own cliques, formed their own identities in whatever superficial foothold they've established for themselves, and they don't feel like making themselves vulnerable by taking in a potentially very uncool kid into their groups. Well too bad for Ephram Brown. But I'd had to go through by myself for much longer. And not because I was the New Kid. Nah. I was just plain Uncool.
I don't know what possessed me to begin reading his essay, but I did, right there and then as I stooped over on the floor:
"My Fatal Flaw, by Ephram Brown
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm not sure who the first person was who said that. Probably Shakespeare. Or maybe Sting. But at the moment, it's the sentence that best explains my tragic flaw: my inability to change.
I don't think I'm alone in this. The more I get to know other people, the more I realize it's kind of everyone's flaw. Staying exactly the same for as long as possible, standing perfectly still... It feels safer somehow. And if you are suffering, at least the pain is familiar. Because if you took that leap of faith, went outside the box, did something unexpected... Who knows what other pain might be out there, waiting for you. Chances are it could be even worse.
So you maintain the status quo. Choose the road already traveled and it doesn't seem that bad. Not as far as flaws go. You're not a drug addict. You're not killing anyone... Except maybe yourself a little.
When we finally do change, I don't think it happens like an earthquake or an explosion, where all of a sudden we're like this different person. I think it's smaller than that. The kind of thing most people wouldn't even notice unless they looked at us really close. Which, thank God, they never do.
But you notice it. Inside you that change feels like a world of difference. And you hope this is it. This is the person you get to be forever... that you'll never have to change again."
I didn't get up again until I heard Mrs Hemingway call.
"You alright dear?"
"Oh...Y-yes Mrs Hemingway...I just dropped something. I've got it," I said as I picked myself up. I started thinking. What he'd said about not killing anyone but yourself. That hit a chord somewhere. Maybe that's what I'd been doing all along, this whole 'All Work and No Play' bit that I'd salvaged for myself. I hadn't had any friends for a long time. Well, I did have some childhood friends, but we'd all strayed apart since high school started; separated into our Cool and Uncool groups. That hadn't bothered me before. Should it?
"And if you're suffering, at least the pain is familiar..."
I didn't want to think about it anymore.
But maybe I'm just saying this because I'm none of those things.
Who am I kidding? Whether or not life is about success, fame or popularity, they're all still important. I say this because it's true. I say this because I see Amy.
Amy Abbott. You don't know her? Come on, I'm sure you do. She's your typical popular girl; perfect blonde hair, perfect skin, perfect life. There's an Amy Abbott in every single one of our lives. But maybe I'm being judgemental. Maybe her life isn't perfect. But I only know what I can see.
Sigh. I'm being such a sour grape. I don't hate Amy at all. I really don't. It's just that I wish he'd look at me the way he looks at her. The way that she takes for granted.
By 'he' I mean Ephram Brown. I don't know what it was about him that caught me at first. Actually, he didn't catch my attention at all in the beginning; I was too work-oriented to notice such things as boys. What with my scholarship programme needing me to perform "With Excellence" and all, I didn't have much time to, you know, just relax and basically be a teenager. The thought of being stuck in tiny little Everwood and living the life of my parents makes me itch with claustrophobia. No way. After finishing up in this small town, I'm going to college in the city, which is what this whole scholarship thing is about in the first place.
Anyway, what first caught my attention about him was his essay. Being the geek that I am, the teachers had automatically appointed me as Teacher's Pet. But not just one. ALL of them. I didn't ask for it, but seeing that my social life couldn't get worse than it already was, I didn't protest or rebel or anything of the sort. No, I had bigger dreams.
So I was collecting everyone's English essays as usual when the bell rang signaling that class was over. To my dismay, the teacher Mrs Hemingway dismissed the class even though I hadn't finished collecting, leaving me to pick up the essays they'd conveniently left on their desks. Well, perhaps that wasn't so bad, because I was able to go around collecting their papers with ease instead of feeling like a sore thumb moving around everyone's desks.
"Take your time Hana," Mrs Hemingway had said packing up her things, smiling as if she knew that I'd be happier doing this during my break time than actually going to the cafeteria where an empty table awaited me. Just as I arrived at Ephram's table though, a breeze came in through the window and blew his essay to the floor. I bent down to pick it up, and the heading caught me.
"My Fatal Flaw, by Ephram Brown".
Just that. My curiousity was piqued instantly. I knew Ephram Brown alright. He was the New Kid. The one no one bothered about just because he was. I guess that's the way of all schools right? It's like this unwritten Social Etiquette. Everyone's got their own cliques, formed their own identities in whatever superficial foothold they've established for themselves, and they don't feel like making themselves vulnerable by taking in a potentially very uncool kid into their groups. Well too bad for Ephram Brown. But I'd had to go through by myself for much longer. And not because I was the New Kid. Nah. I was just plain Uncool.
I don't know what possessed me to begin reading his essay, but I did, right there and then as I stooped over on the floor:
"My Fatal Flaw, by Ephram Brown
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm not sure who the first person was who said that. Probably Shakespeare. Or maybe Sting. But at the moment, it's the sentence that best explains my tragic flaw: my inability to change.
I don't think I'm alone in this. The more I get to know other people, the more I realize it's kind of everyone's flaw. Staying exactly the same for as long as possible, standing perfectly still... It feels safer somehow. And if you are suffering, at least the pain is familiar. Because if you took that leap of faith, went outside the box, did something unexpected... Who knows what other pain might be out there, waiting for you. Chances are it could be even worse.
So you maintain the status quo. Choose the road already traveled and it doesn't seem that bad. Not as far as flaws go. You're not a drug addict. You're not killing anyone... Except maybe yourself a little.
When we finally do change, I don't think it happens like an earthquake or an explosion, where all of a sudden we're like this different person. I think it's smaller than that. The kind of thing most people wouldn't even notice unless they looked at us really close. Which, thank God, they never do.
But you notice it. Inside you that change feels like a world of difference. And you hope this is it. This is the person you get to be forever... that you'll never have to change again."
I didn't get up again until I heard Mrs Hemingway call.
"You alright dear?"
"Oh...Y-yes Mrs Hemingway...I just dropped something. I've got it," I said as I picked myself up. I started thinking. What he'd said about not killing anyone but yourself. That hit a chord somewhere. Maybe that's what I'd been doing all along, this whole 'All Work and No Play' bit that I'd salvaged for myself. I hadn't had any friends for a long time. Well, I did have some childhood friends, but we'd all strayed apart since high school started; separated into our Cool and Uncool groups. That hadn't bothered me before. Should it?
"And if you're suffering, at least the pain is familiar..."
I didn't want to think about it anymore.