Death. It's not something often talked about. No one wants to sit around a basement or a table and talk about dying. You don't watch a tv show and talk about death during the boring parts. You just don't talk about death. Sure, it's a part of life. Yeah, it happens. But, you never ever talk about it. Yet, it's apart of life and it happens. It happens every day. People die every second. Someone's just died. See, death is apart of life. It's real.
Jackie died the other day. She was just twenty years old.
It wasn't some cool death. Is there such a thing as a cool death? She didn't die saving people. She didn't die bringing a new life into the world. She didn't die in some stupid car thing. She just got sick and died. She got sick and then she got a little better and then she got sick again and she kept getting sicker and then she died.
She was sick for four years but nobody noticed till it was way too late. She was already two and a half years into her sickness. It was too damn late and everyone felt so damn sorry for her. If only they hadn't been so into themselves. If only there had been signs. If only she had said something. If only she hadn't been so worried over silly high school shit! Then, maybe she or someone else would have noticed. Then, well, maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe she'd be alive and being loud and spoiled and down in the basement reading some stupid magazine or sitting on Steven Hyde's lap?
Before she died, she'd sit in her hospital bed and watch soaps with Mrs. Kitty Forman. They'd talk and laugh and everything would seem normal. At night everyone would come to see her, Eric and Fez and Kelso and Donna and Red and Bob and Hyde. They'd hang in her room like it was the basement. They'd sit around the room and watch the black and white tv and make stupid cracks and comments. Around ten, Red would get up and tell the teens to go home; he'd say that Jackie needed rest and that they were bugging the hell out of him. There'd be sad smiles and promises of return visits the next night. Eric would joke that they'd lose Red on the way up. Fez would tell Jackie he'd bring candy. Donna would promise fashion magazines. Kelso would promise a new song. Hyde would just take his sunglasses off, take the offered blanket from Bob, and curl himself up in the big yellow chair.
She kept saying she'd get better, you know. She'd tell anyone that would listen. She used to sit there and say "It'll be fine. They'll treat me and I'll get better. I'll get better." And she did-for three months. Jackie got better and they let her go back home, back to Donna's. A week later she was back in the basement. She looked a little wore and older then she had been before she got sick, but she was better. She spent a lot of her time in the basement. She told everyone that she felt good there. She felt at home.
She was well and everyone was happy. They gave her a party and bought her pretty new things. She hugged everyone and got teary eyed. There was laugher, because for one of the first times, Jackie was speechless. Eric even took a picture, to prove that Jackie could be speechless. He said it was for future generations.
But, happiness is stuff in books and songs. It couldn't last. One night, Jackie got sick again. Bob called Kitty over and she was rushed back to the hospital. She was brought back to that place of white sheets and walls. That place that smells funny and gives you crappy Jell-o. That place were people always seem to go to die. They checked her back in and put her in her old room. And things went back to the way they were before. With visits from people and Hyde sleeping in the ugly chair. Everyone, even Jackie, knew that she would not be leaving that room again. It was her final home.
And because it was her final home, she tried to make it better. Posters were put up, stuff animals were brought in. A framed tee shirt was put above the bed. And the ugly yellow chair was replaced with a big, pink chair.
She forced the staff to allow her to wear her pjs and sleep in her pink sheets. She had her color television brought in. She made them put another chair in and made the gang keep their magazines and comics there. She wanted it to be like the basement for them. She wanted everyone to be okay. She didn't want anyone to not want to be there. She needed everyone to be there.
She died one night. It was summer, late June to be correct. She passed away right before the gang was due to visit. Earlier that day, she had begged Hyde to leave his job early so he could come sit with her. And he had come, but when she died he had been getting a coffee. Jackie, the girl who couldn't bear to be alone, died alone.
She was put in the cold, hard, ground two days later. It was a wonderful service, so many people came. People who she hadn't seen in years, including her mother. That woman was ignored by mostly everyone. The service wasn't very long, only an hour or so. It would have been shorter but everyone of her friends wanted to say something. Donna talked about the way Jackie had always been a good friend. Eric talked about the way he had Jackie always agreed on the strangest things, and how that was nice. Fez talked about his love for the bratty skating princess and their searched love for this candy and that candy. Red talked about the way she could hold a flashlight and that he always liked her. Kitty called her sweet in a fresh way. Bob, before he had to go sit down, called her neat and a good listener. Kelso said she was his first and that he'd always hold a place for her in his heart. Hyde said she was his doll. Said she taught him how to love.
There was crying and sobs. Red held Kitty, Joanna held Bob, Eric and Donna held each other. Fez kept crying and muttering different memories to himself. Kelso wrote a song and sang it. People sobbed harder. Hyde, the Zen master, he cried. He cried the most.
Afterward, they all went back to the Forman house. The gang went down into the basement, sat in their circle and remembered the bratty, spoiled, rich, loud, silly, sweet, caring, smart, funny, girl they called Jackie.
Fin