the truth about amy
- by lauren -
"Geometry…five problems...I'll do it tomorrow in homeroom," I muttered to myself. I wasn't in the mood for homework, and long list of asignments in front of me wasn't helping. I sighed and clicked the "on" button to the remote of my stereo, the sounds of Taking Back Sunday shattering the silence. A little better. I looked back to my notebook.
"What's next…journalism…write a essay on an eye-opener in your life—1-3 pages, 1 inch margins, Times New Roman, size 12, and double spaced." I scowled. Shit. Due tomorrow, that means I'll actually have to do it. Tonight.
That damn English teacher. Mrs. Ward…in her twenties, which should have been cool, but number one: she was far from easy on the eyes, and number two: the bitch gene hadn't passed her by. In fact, it had hit her dead-on. Not to mention all these futile assignments she kept giving us. An eye-opener? What the hell's that supposed to mean? Was this supposed to ever help me in life?
An eye-opener. Had I even had one of those? Maybe something when my…my mom died? And my dad had decided to move to Everwood? Yeah, that I realized my dad, genius brain surgeon, had lost his mind. I'm sure that would make for a great essay. And I'm sure Dad would just love it. Yeah, right.
When I realized Dad was, in his own twisted little way, actually trying to do what was best for me, not worse? Too personal. Besides, I'm not sure I even completely understand that one.
And then it dawned on me. An eye-opener that I was currently ignoring because it sucked to think about.
The eye opener that taught me the truth about Amy.
Yeah, great thinking, Ephram. That's the best idea you've had yet. Write an essay telling the dire truth about Miss Perfect Amy Abbott?
Think. Come on. An eye-opener. Well…I could always make something up. Like…wait? The homeless guy I saw last year on the street? I could expand off of that, maybe throw in some bull that sounds nice…yeah. Okay. At least a C, right there.
I sighed, double-clicked the Microsoft Word icon on my computer screen. After setting up the format correctly, I typed in my name and the date and…then nothing else came to mind.
Ephram Brown
1/21/03
The cursor flashed at me. Nothing came to mind. My hands were frozen above the keyboard, staring at the three letters they wanted to hit. I stopped them.
Homeless man. Come on, remember?
But I couldn't think about the homeless man. Because my mind was on other things now.
Cocentrate. I glanced over at my clock. 8:37. Well, I still had some time.
The lyrics of the current song playing weren't helping matters. "Maybe I should hate you for this…never did quite get that far." Damnit, damnit, damnit! Why can't you just—well. I picked up the remote again, switching the CD over to Something Corporate. Fine. I stared at the screen for a little longer, but was suddenly jolted out of my trance by the vocals, "I need you to save me too…"
"God, is all my music about guys who can't get over a girl?" I cried out, frustratedly, slamming my hands down over the remote. Angrily, I finally switched over to Good Charlotte, and "The Anthem" started to play. Good. No crap about girls.
All right, now can you concentrate? I silently reprimanded myself. Where was I…all right, homeless man, New York City…it opened my eyes to…um…how…homeless people really lived?
Fine, I decided. Now just write.
I let an idea form in my head, and once it was there, I started to type.
They say sometimes one experience can open your eyes to truth. The truth may be something you just weren't aware of. Or the truth might be something you knew all along, but didn't have the heart to admit to yourself.
Subconsciously, I knew I wasn't talking about a homeless person anymore, and was no longer intending to, but I continued to type anyway.
Recently I had an experience concerning the latter. When I first came to Everwood, I met a girl, the only person that would ever dare talk to the new kid about anything but the color of his hair. She was beautiful, and of course, I fell head over heels for her from the instant I saw her. Later I learned that the only reason she was talking to me was so that I'd convince my dad to do brain surgery on her comatose boyfriend. Yeah, sure. After that, I continued to be her friend, because I still believed that maybe, despite some ulterior motives, she was still a person worth getting to know. And I believed her when she told me things like that I was a miracle. And she promised that even if the boyfriend came back, we'd never be strangers. I believed her enough that I actually started to think I should talk my dad into that brian surgery. Which I did.
And of course, the boyfriend woke up, and when he didn't remember her, she came running back to me to cry. I told her she couldn't give up on him. Even though I was hopelessly in love, what else could I do?
After that, she stopped making an effort to talk to me. Never be strangers. She lied to me. And I had thought she really, genuinely liked me. Apparently, I was just a replacement for her boyfriend while he was gone. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of the things I was about to find out about her.
I'd expected to hate the boyfriend. After all, I'd assumed he was one of the larger parts coming between me and her. But that wasn't the case. He came up to me and introduced himself; he was a nice guy. He invited me to sit at his lunch table, and I reluctantly did. As much as I hated to admit it, he was a really good, likeable person, one I wouldn't have minded having as a friend.
Unfortunately, she was also at that table. It was an uncomfortable thing for her, I guess, to be with the guy she'd secretly kissed and her boyfriend who knew nothing of it. She pretended we hadn't even known each other. Hadn't even been friends.
And then she came over to my house that night, practically jumping down my throat and asking me what I was doing. She asked me why I had tried to befriend Colin. She said we shouldn't be friends; we had nothing in common. Right, because it's not possible that I could have anything in common with the most perfect guy in the world, huh? At the time, many of her comments had hurt me. And now, reflecting on the things that were said, I realize the reason she didn't want us to be friends. Because it was uncomfortable for her. She assumed I should put my life on hold to try to make everything wonderful for her.
She is a selfish person. She only cares about herself. If things don't go her way—well, you better watch out. She doesn't pay any mind to the fact that I might actually need friends around here. That even though I was still in love with her, and probably still am, I had wanted to remain friends. That I'm human.
She puts up this façade, that she's this wonderful, amazingly devoted person. And when she was with me, she cracked. So now that her boyfriend's back, she's got to stay away from me, since I'm the only person who saw her crack. Instead of facing her problems and decisions, as she never does, she took the selfish way out.
So I had to find it out the hard way. That's the way I found out the truth about Amy Abbott.
I let out a long breath as I stared at the last words on the screen. The truth about Amy Abbott. I had learned the truth, all right.
My mind was spinning as I skimmed through what I'd just written. Why the hell did I continue to type it? There was no way I could hand it in. Why did I waste my time writing it?
It wasn't a waste of time, I convinced myself. I really needed to see it written down to believe it, to believe that Amy wasn't the person everyone wanted her to be, that she wasn't even the person that I wanted her to be.
Hesistantly, I hit the print button, and then deleted the entire thing. I slipped the printed copy underneath a stack of textbooks on my desk, and sighed. Maybe Wendell was right, I mused, shamefully giving in to his ludicrous theory that I'd wasted all that time on Amy for nothing.
And just as I was about to shut off my music, because I really wasn't in the mood for upbeat anymore, something stopped me. There was this thought somewhere at the back of my head, trying to tell me something, but the message wasn't quite coming clear. Thoughts of how badly I'd treated my dad after my mom died floated through my head. Stop, Ephram. You don't even want to know what you're thinking right now, because if you figure it out, you're going to regret it. Desperate to listen to my instinct, I picked up the remote and switched back to the first song I had been listening to. Sighing, I began to type the bullshitted essay about the homeless man, but I wasn't really thinking about what I was writing. The lyrics of the song were ringing in my head, and this time, I let them.
"All I need to know…is that I'm something you'll be missing." Yeah, I thought bitterly, leaning back in my chair to sulk with the music. If only I knew that.
"Maybe I should hate you for this…never really did ever quite get that far…
"...if I'm just bad news, then you're a liar…"
(A/N: Okay, I was kind of delirious when I wrote this, so I hope it makes sense. lol. A made-up situation, taking place after the last episode, "The Price of Fame" [amazing ep, by the way!]. Kind of just Ephram's thoughts on Amy's childish behavior. A lot of this revolves around music, so I'll make it a point right now to say that 1) "You're So Last Summer" belongs to Taking Back Sunday, and I DID not write it, 2) "I Wanna Save You" belongs to Something Corporate and I didn't write it either, and 3) "The Anthem" belongs to Good Charlotte. I suggest you download all of these songs, because they're all amazing, and because they might help you understand the story better if you understand what the songs are about. The end, in case you didn't catch it, is extremely interpretive and symbolic. I'm sure you might have read this and thought, What the hell? That's the end? But read it again. Think about what Ephram was on the verge of thinking. You'll get it, I hope. The music at the end is also VERY symbolic. Look at the last two lines and really think about what they mean. I don't want to give it away, because the point of this was to make YOU think. I'm thinking of doing a companion piece, where Amy either finds the essay Ephram wrote about her, or where she writes her own paper. Also, think about the comparisons between the two parts where he talks about wasting his time. There's a huge connection, I promise.
Reviews are very much appreciated! If you can't figure it out, review, and maybe I'll post up another chapter [not continuing the story, but explaining the ending to those who didn't get it]. xoxo – laur)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Everwood, Ephram, Amy, Colin…nobody! None of the songs or lyrics used, either.