Author's note: this is a much longer chapter than the last. Quinn talks about a childhood encounter and why she so desperately wanted to be Prom Queen.
Reviews, criticisms or any comments are more than welcome!
I've always wanted a pet. I know it sounds like a rather mundane thing to say, but it's something which has been lately plaguing my mind. Although my sister and I had constantly begged our parents when we were younger to let us keep a pet, they'd always refused us. Our mother was allergic to dog hair, and father hated cats. They'd allowed us a myriad of smaller pets; fish, hamsters, guinea pigs and the like, but I'd never quite given up on my dream of owning a larger pet.
I think I should have liked to be the owner of a dog. Like my father, I'm not particularly fond of cats; as a child I was severely scratched by one along the length of my torso. It was a neighbour's cat and I had tried to pick it up. Unfortunately, she was not a particularly friendly cat and had sunk her claws into my flesh to get away. It worked. I dropped her, screaming in agony as lines of blood began soaking through the thin fabric of my shirt, and she bounded away, up and over the fence into someone else's yard. The scratches had later become infected and after a few days without improvement, my parents took me to hospital, where I was contained to a bed for several days, doctors and nurses pumping me full of antibiotics.
That was the first time I met my now fellow Glee clubber, Rachel Berry. I'm sure she's not got any recollection of that time, but I remember it vividly. For some inexplicable reason, the memory is burned into my mind, like a scar which runs too deep to ever fully heal. She had had a throat infection and her fathers, for Rachel Berry has two, were insisting that she be kept overnight in the hospital; they were not at all going to risk the infection getting worse and have their baby daughter lose her ability to sing. Even then they were confident that she was going to be a star.
So, despite doctors' reassurances that the prescribed antibiotics would clear up the infection in a matter of time, Rachel had spent the night in the bed next to mine. As is wont to happen when you place six year old girls together, we became friends. Little Quinn Fabray pulled herself out of bed, in spite of the urging of her parents to stay put, and hobbled over to the bed of the little brunette girl, fearlessly introducing herself. I was in pain, but never mind that, the prospect of making a new friend was, to my mind, worth any pain I was in. I had no intention of letting such opportunities pass by.
Rachel, holding her head high with immense confidence, despite her voice coming out in croaks, explained to me that she was going to be a Broadway star one day. I had no idea what a Broadway star was, so I nodded enthusiastically and told her it sounded awesome. I assumed it had something to do with space, but then she said she was in hospital because her dad thought the infection might affect her singing voice. At the time I had no inkling that by star she meant famous; the only stars I knew of were the ones in the velvety black night sky. I was slightly confused, but decided it wasn't important, and our six year old selves talked animatedly for hours, although, for the life of me, I cannot say what we discussed. However, I do remember our parents overseeing our strange friendship; mine still sitting beside my bed while I was a cubicle away, chattering with the dark haired, big eyed girl, and Rachel's fathers sitting beside her bed, not having the heart to explain to Rachel that talking so much would slow the healing process of her sore throat. I assume it is because the girl had never had many friends and they felt as though they should not destroy the opportunity she had been given; that we had both been given.
I myself was disappointed the next day when Rachel was made to leave the hospital, doctors promising that her voice would return to normal in several days, and I was forced to stay behind while they tended to my wounds. I'd grown to like the other girl with her big dreams which I didn't fully comprehend, beyond that they were grand and fabulous. I must admit that at the time, as I recall, I wanted to live in a castle, so it is not as though I had a very realistic perspective of life then, but even so, Rachel's dreams left me in awe. But what left a deeper impression on my six year old self was the way she spoke about them, as though she knew nothing was going to stop her from fighting to achieve them; as though she was certain that that was where she was born to be, what she was intended to do with her life. Even at six years old, Rachel Berry had more certainty about what she was doing with her life than most adults do.
Her resolve seems only to have strengthened with time, and although she does not know it, I admire her for her determination. I wonder what she would think if she realised that the little girl she met in hospital all those years ago is the same one who on a daily basis made her high school life a living hell. I believe she'd be disappointed in me. It shames me to think of it, thus the resolution I bound myself to recently, that I would stop treating her like I dislike her, and begin to treat her like the friend I thought she was going to become when we were six years old. It's going to be challenging, and we are going to have to undo the habits of years, but if there's any one person I believe would forgive me for my appalling treatment of them, it would be Rachel.
Unfortunately, in spite of the promises we extorted from both our sets of parents about letting us continue our friendship outside the hospital ward, we never did. It was only as I grew older that I began to realise my parents' reasons for this, but I will never forgive them for not putting prejudices aside and encouraging a new friendship. Rachel's gay fathers were the driving reason for my parents never allowing Rachel and I a chance to be friends, because homosexuality was against Christianity, and Christianity was their lives. My parents' narrow world view robbed me of a chance at friendship. In a way, I must thank them for their narrow mindedness, for, without it, I would never have learnt to appreciate the value of keeping an open mind and an even kinder heart.
Parents are supposed to pass on values to their children, and mine did, even if in a rather round about way; instead of impressing their values on me, I learnt from them exactly who I did not want to be: I never wanted to exclude someone from my life simply because I was taught to disagree with their lifestyle. My parents did ingrain in me a respect for religion, and instilled in me many of the values of Christianity, but there are some aspects of the religion I will never conform to, no matter how strong my faith may be. If anything, the lessons I took included acceptance of everyone, not "acceptance of everyone, except those whose lifestyles we deem as wrong" and thus, I have tried to uphold that acceptance. I feel that I would not be staying true to myself if I lived in any other way.
You may be thinking "You are incredibly hypocritical. One moment ago you proclaimed that you made Rachel Berry's life torturous, and now you are claiming to be accepting of everyone," and I must admit, you are correct in your observations. In all honesty, I began my transformation from the person who derived pleasure from degrading other people to the girl who was ashamed of her such actions and wanted to make everything right only a little over a year ago. More recently I lapsed back into the person I was before, simply because that was the attitude I'd grown so used to wearing all my life that reclaiming that particular mantle was a much easier way of dealing with my problems than trying to carve out a new, unfamiliar way.
My self esteem was built entirely on the crumbling remains of other people's and the only way I felt that I was worth anything was when I was making others feel belittled, intimidated, and worthless. But the rubble I used to create a castle for myself collapsed entirely when I joined the Glee club and I hence became one of the people I used to bully. Instead of being the one who was striking fear into others, I was the one who was in fear. In a matter of months, I fell from the pinnacle of the school's social ladder to the very, very bottom. It was then that I realised how unfair and unkind I'd been to people and I vowed that I would not treat them like that again.
However, this year brought the opportunity to reclaim my position at the top of the school by winning the Prom Queen title, and I reverted back into the ruthless girl I had been before, all in order to win. I'm not proud of my behaviour. I know I was wrong, and although I'm going to try explain my reasons behind it, I just want you to know that I'm not trying to shirk the responsibility of my actions. I knew what I was doing, I knew I was going to hurt people, I just couldn't muster up the ability to care about that. I was more concerned with helping myself than being kind to others. I hope you don't judge me too harshly for my stupidity and selfishness and at least take the time to try understand why I acted the way I did.
Going from the top of the school to the bottom was a gruelling trial, and not one that I at all enjoyed. Do you have any idea what it is like for that to happen? One moment I was the queen of the school, everyone was terrified of me - they practically parted like the Red Sea any time I walked through corridors. After joining Glee club, respect for me plummeted and I would get slushied, which, in case you've no idea what that is, involved getting a slushie thrown in your face or dumped on top of your head. The tiny particles of flavoured ice would get everywhere; they would sting your eyes for hours, they would soak through your clothes, leaving permanent stains in the process, they would slide down your torso and leave you shivering and smelling like whichever flavour you happened to be slushied with for the rest of the day. I used to be the one who instigated those against other people; to suffer it myself was utterly humiliating, degrading and was a clear sign of what the student body now thought of me.
To be fair, once I began experiencing it for myself, I stopped ordering that others be hit with a slushie attack, but the damage had been done. Our cheerleading coach, Ms Sylvester lost all respect for me, my squad no longer respected me as a member and the jocks who had found me so attractive before, all took turns at laughing at me whenever I walked past.
The only people I had to turn to were the Glee Club, but most of them disliked me because I'd victimised them in the past. Especially Rachel Berry. Thinking over it all though, I do believe that Rachel disliked anyone who was a threat to her. However, Rachel was an easy target to tease and bully because as badly as you treated her, the next day she'd bounced back and was as determined as ever to reach her dreams. She was fun to bully because she was so difficult to completely break. True, we would send her home in tears, but never did she come to school dejected and depressed. If she had, we probably would have stopped; there was no point in torturing someone who showed no response. If she'd learnt that, she would have saved herself years of trouble. I'm incredibly ashamed that for three years I constantly hounded her like she was the bane of my existence. I still wonder what our relationship would be like should she ever remember or be told about that time in hospital when we were six. I wonder whether she'd feel any differently about me. But anyhow, I've digressed again.
Prom was my opportunity to be back on top. If I won, everyone's respect would be restored, Glee Club or not; I would no longer have to worry about being slushied again, I wouldn't have to hide my face from the ridicule and I wouldn't have to be ashamed for not wearing the Cheerio's uniform anymore, having quit after Coach Sylvester tried to go one stunt too far; there's a difference between athleticism and sending someone on a suicide mission.
I became obsessed with winning the title of Prom Queen. I would stop by the glass display exhibiting the crown and stare at it, envisioning it on my very own head. I put up posters, I campaigned. Prom Queen was the ultimate popularity contest, and yes, I'll even admit, that a small part of my being with Finn Hudson, my boyfriend at the time, was because I knew it would improve our chance of winning the titles of Prom King and Queen. Don't judge too harshly, reader, remember you're observing the mentality of a 17 year old girl who lost some of the most important things in her life. I'll admit, despite the fact it's only been a short time since Prom, I've matured a lot; much more than I thought would have been possible. Perhaps some of my new found maturity was a direct result of not winning what I so desperately wanted. In any case, I'm able to recognise my then behaviour as abhorrent.
But dear reader, do you know what it's like to want something so badly that you literally yearn for it every waking moment? Do you know what it's like to have that taken away from you in a single heartbeat? I'll tell you. It's soul crushing. It's as though your stomach drops out of your torso, it's like your breath is ripped from your body, it's like your heart is frozen mid-beat. It's as though your whole world ends, because in a sense, it has; all those dreams you indulgently allowed yourself are torn to shreds right before your eyes. They vanish, as though there was never a chance, and you're left with a gaping hole in your heart, an emptiness you hadn't realised you possessed because you'd been so sure that you would fill it.
That's what it was like. Right there on stage, in front of the entire school, my world ended. Any chance of being someone again were shot down, riddled by the bullets of students' votes. It showed me what they really thought of me. I genuinely believed that I'd had a chance at winning, but no, I was sorely mistaken; the cruelty of the school went completely over my head, even though for a long time, I'd been just as cruel as they. The ultimate blow of their cruelty fell on my fellow Glee clubber, Kurt Hummel. The only openly gay student in our school, the way they repaid him was by mockingly voting him Prom Queen.
I'm sure it's always been Kurt's dream to be voted Prom Queen, but I'm certain he didn't envision it the way it happened. In fact, I'm sure that to him it was nothing more than a fantasy that he knew was impossible, but there on that night, while everyone was dressed in their best, his dream came true with a cruel blow. But I admire him for the way he handled it; the boy has much more self control and a braver heart than anyone has ever given him credit for.
The result crushed the dream of three girls that night; my own, and those of Santana Lopez and Lauren Zizes. We had each wanted it so badly; you only get one Prom, after all. But we survive, as we must. I think our trip to New York took the sting off. Being so far away from home in such a magnificent place, competing for something much bigger, the Prom Queen saga was put into perspective for us. Still, we each have to return to school in the fall, and face the possibility of more humiliation by our peers. Never so much have I dreaded going back to those classrooms, those corridors, that locker, that student body. My only consolation is that no matter how bad it may get, it is my last year at that school. Then it'll be goodbye school, hello world. I cannot wait.