Conner in Aspen
Springs. I think Tony and I knew him
better than most of you. Conner was
good at hiding the
scared little boy inside…. At that,
Kendra’s crying becomes almost
hysterical. Her mom
does her best to console her as Vanessa
continues, Conner couldn’t be what
everyone else wanted
him to be. So he chose the easy way out.
Cara
Death
Is
only
the
easy
way
out
if
you
are
the
one who dies.
At The Red-Haired Girl’s Words
Dad gives a little gasp. Mom barely
flinches. Now the dark-haired boy says,
I’m Tony. And Conner was my friend.
Maybe the only friend I ever had, except
for one other person. Vanessa and I both
loved Conner, and not because he scored
touchdowns or got straight As. We loved
who he was when he let his guard down.
When he let us see who he wanted to be,
free of expectations. The real Conner.
We thought he was stronger than it turned
out he was because he saved us both,
more than once, and in different
ways. I will never forget him.
What I want to tell you is what
I think he would tell you, if he could.
Living means taking chances. Risks.
Playing safe all the time is being dead
inside, even if you happen to still be
breathing. People expected Conner
to play it safe all the time. And when
he did, he felt dead inside. I saw him
take risks, and then he was the most
alive person I’ve ever known. He would
ask you to take chances. Sometimes
that means getting hurt. Getting an F.
Losing a game. Losing someone you
love. But if you always play it safe,
you lose anyway. Tony turns, goes
over to the casket, bends and kisses
Conner. Fuck you, dude. You should
have hung around. Proved ’em wrong.
He Turns Back, Crying
Which is fine, because everyone here
is crying. Even Mom. She makes no
sound, but her eyes glisten, and I think
Tony has given her permission to break
all the way down later. He gestures to
Vanessa to come say good-bye. Protocol
might dictate Conner’s family go forward
first. But I think Tony and Vanessa are
Conner’s family. Probably better family
than the rest of us. Dani whispers, Thanks
for taking a chance with me. She kisses me,
in front of everybody. And I’m good with it.
Kendra
Chance
Brought us
together.
Tattered us
twisted us
wrenched us
wide apart.
But it wasn’t
chance that
ended you
took you
away from
me forever.
People Move Forward
To say their good-byes. But I’m afraid.
Afraid to see what’s left of Conner.
Afraid I’ll see too much. Too little.
Afraid that what I see will convince me
it’s not Conner at all. From here,
the thing in the coffin looks like it’s made
of wax. A fake Conner, meant to fool
us into believing he’s dead. Maybe he’s not
dead at all. Maybe this is just some
crazy scheme he came up with so he could
get away. From school. From football.
From his family. From me. Maybe he’s living
large with Emily Sanders somewhere.
Oh my God. What’s the matter with me?
Of course he’s dead. Look at his parents.
At Cara. At those two—Tony and Vanessa.
He has leveled them. Shredded them.
I would say he got the final laugh, but
would he laugh, knowing what he’s done
to them? Knowing what he’s done to me?
Kendra, says Mom. Don’t you want
to say good-bye? She stands, takes
my hand, coaxes me to my feet. I let
her lead me forward. My head is light.
I haven’t eaten a bite since I got
the news. Death as a weight-loss tool.
Wonder if I could market that.
The thought makes me laugh. Mom
gives me a sideways glance. But all
it takes to sober me completely is reaching
the casket. I’ve never seen Conner
in a suit. That alone makes him look
a lot like a mannequin. A suit is so not
Conner. I’d rather remember him naked.
Next to me. Under the trees. On a blanket
of pine needles. The memory catches in
my throat. Did he ever think about
that afternoon? Can he think about it now?
“Where are you, Conner?” I whisper.
“Can you hear me? Can you remember,
wherever you are? Will you remember
me, the way I will always remember you?”
I don’t want to say good-bye, but Mom puts
her arm around me. He’ll remember you.
Sean
Good-bye
Watching
good-byes.
Long ones.
Quick ones.
Sad ones.
Angry ones.
People say
good-bye in
many ways.
How will
people say
good-bye to me?
How will
people
remember me?
I Didn’t Hang Out
With Conner. Didn’t miss him
when he wasn’t at school
after his so-called accident
with the gun. That must
have been on purpose too.
But I have to admit, seeing
him dead, no more chances,
no more choices, no more
ways to make things better,
is making me think. Rethink.
That Tony guy wasn’t totally
right. I mean, yeah, he was
spot-on about other people’s
expectations, and how trying
to live up to them can take
a guy out. But fact is, I
don’t always play it safe.
I take calculated risks,
always with a focused goal
in sight. But sometimes
I feel dead inside anyway.
Cara made me feel alive.
Maybe that’s why I can’t
let her go. I don’t want
to feel dead anymore.
What I think is, I need to
find a way to feel alive
that doesn’t require
someone else to make
it happen. I mean, putting
a ball over the fence, and
hearing people cheer for
me, well, that’s a solo
effort, and a definite rush.
Dead people don’t get rushes.
Getting into Stanford,
mostly on my own
willpower, that came
close. It’s the “mostly”
that bothers me. Am I really
good enough to play Cardinal
ball? I think the time has
come to find o
ut. To dry
out. They’re going to pee
test us first thing anyway.
Up in front, Cara’s girlfriend
kisses her. Jealousy pierces
me, but when Aubree comments,
Oh my God. Isn’t that, like,
disgusting? Especially here.
I say, “Yeah, gross,” but on
some level, I think it’s not
so bad, really. And maybe
the way it was always
supposed to be. Cara was
never meant for me. Pretty
sure Aubree isn’t either.
But I’m swearing off girls.
For a while. Long enough
to know I don’t need one.
Andre
Enough
Mourning.
Enough.
Crying.
Enough.
Lamenting
what can
never be.
Enough.
Eulogizing.
Enough.
Second guessing.
Enough.
Apologizing
for what you
cannot change.
Play It Safe?
That’s my middle name. Wait. Okay,
my other middle name.
Andre Marcus Play-It-Safe Kane.
Can’t in good faith add the III to that.
Gramps never played
it safe. And neither did my father. So where
did I get it from? Maybe from observing
how taking chances
sometimes leads to failure. Neither Gramps
nor Dad hit the jackpot every time. Win some,
lose some. The concept
is integral both to innovation and speculation.
I mostly choose the path of least resistance.
Not because I’m lazy.
But because I hate to lose. Probably why
I hung on to Jenna for so long, even though
I knew our relationship
was doomed. Not because of her father.
But because I tried to put her up on such
a high pedestal. Obviously,
Jenna is afraid of heights. I hope she finds
the courage to stand on the pinnacle one day.
She deserves to be there.
But she has to learn to make the climb solo.
Speaking of solos, I have some rehearsing
to do. Shantell and I rocked
it as a couple. But the second audition is all
solos. If I don’t want to fail, I’d better put
in some hours with
Liana. I’ll need my parents to help me pay
for those lessons, so it’s confession time.
I have to quit playing
it safe eventually. Might as well be today.
The Wake
Is officially over, except for the food part.
Death and hors d’oeuvres
never did make much sense to me as a pairing.
Still, I ask Shantell, “Hungry? Looks like
a pretty nice spread.”
A long line has formed for the food tables.
Think I can skip it, she says. But we should
go say good-bye to Cara.
The family stands at the far end of the hall.
Shantell and I join the receiving line, which
rivals the food line.
“Did everybody in town know him or what?”
Apparently, nobody really knew him. Except
maybe those two. She points
at Tony and Vanessa, who comfort each
other as only two people very much in love
can. I hope to know love
like that one day. Love you can’t help but notice.
Cara
Love
Is
a curious thing. Sometimes
it barrels into you, leaves you
breathless. Other times, it comes
in-
to your life, a tentative beam
of morning sun sneaking
through the blinds, and you think
this
light isn’t possible. The shutters
are drawn. Night should linger
on. I don’t feel like waking. Yet the
room
comes slowly lit. Sleep slithers
away, and at last you can no
longer deny the dawning.
The Funeral Mass
Is tomorrow. Mom allowed Dad to reclaim
his Catholicism long enough to bury his
son. One hour at the church. Fifteen minutes
at the cemetery, and Conner will be left
to the will of the earth—and God. The wake
is winding down. The food is mostly gone,
and so, mostly, are the mourners. More than
I expected came to pay their last respects.
A few stragglers come late to talk to me
privately. Kendra looks horrible, like she’s
forgotten food. She leaves her mother’s side
just long enough to say, I can’t believe
he’s gone. I always kind of thought
we’d have another chance. But deep
down I guess I knew that was wishful
thinking. Just … not … like this.
We hug, as we’re supposed to do.
I watch her go, leaning on her mother,
wonder if she’ll be around next year, or
if she might wind up starved, in a coffin.
Sean walks by with Aubree. I expect
a smirk. Instead he offers a genuine
smile, and I don’t see anger in his eyes.
More something like … regret.
Finally, as the room empties almost
completely, Vanessa and Tony approach.
“Thank you so much for coming, and for
your words. I think we all took them to
heart.” Meaningless banter. But they
are strangers. What else can I say? That
I am sad they knew my brother better
than I did? Better than our parents did?
Vanessa looks ready to turn away, but
Tony stops her. We have something to
tell you. Something you might want
to know. We were on the challenge
with Conner. He was okay at first.
I mean, as usual, he was far out
in front of us most of the way. But
then he stopped taking his meds.
Things started going downhill.
He was edgy. Then, the last night
before the climb, they gave us letters
from home. After he … uh …
Vanessa and I found this, out in
the desert. I think it drove him over.
He hands me the letter my mother
wrote that night. And it is folded into …
… a perfect paper airplane.
Author’s Note
Daily, we are bombarded with messages telling us we aren’t good enough. We’re too fat. Too thin. Too stupid. Too ugly. Our body parts are too little. Too big. Too bumpy. Too hairy. (Or if you’re a middleaged man, not hairy enough.) It’s important to understand that those messages come from all the wrong places. From companies who want money to make us “better.” From people who want to take advantage of us; who are jealous of us; who feel better about themselves by making others feel unworthy.
Perfection is a ridiculous goal because there is no such thing. The definition of the word is subjective—it means different things to different people. The same person who is ugly in one estimation is beautiful in another. You’ve heard it before, but I want you to believe that real beauty is what you are inside. If you were my child, I would counsel you to invest your energy crafting inner beauty, because your outside will never please everyone anyway.
I was the chubby kid who suffered peer abuse. I had a bump on my nose (still do) and though
t it made me ugly. I spent too many years hurting because I believed the mean things other kids said about me. But I refused to let their words make me become something I wasn’t. And I blossomed inside. Finally one day I looked in the mirror and thought, Wow, I’m kind of pretty. My high school friends will tell you I was kind of pretty. I had lost the “chubby,” but that isn’t why. It was because I learned to let my inner light shine through. And so can you.
If someone only likes you because of the way you look, that someone isn’t a friend, and definitely shouldn’t be someone you want a relationship with. (Do you really want a guy to like you only because you’ve got big breasts? Or flip that. Do you really want a girl to like you only because you’ve got big muscles—I won’t say what kind!?) There is a certain power in outer beauty. But if you possess great outer beauty and use it in the wrong way, it can come back to haunt you. Witness Jenna, in this book.
What we all strive for, ultimately, is love. You won’t find real love because you’re beautiful on the outside. It is drawn to inner beauty. Spend your energy crafting that, and you will know true love.
Some Statistics
• Anorexia and bulimia affect nearly ten million women and one million men (primarily teens and young adults) in reported cases in the United States, and both can be fatal.
• Anorexia nervosa has the highest premature fatality rate of any mental illness. At least one thousand people die every year from anorexia.
• The average age of sufferers is dropping rapidly (as young as elementary school), with peak onset among girls ages eleven to thirteen.
• It’s estimated that another twenty-five million people suffer from binge eating disorder.
• Although teens make up just two percent of cosmetic surgery patients in the United States, these numbers are increasing. According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, the number of procedures performed on kids aged thirteen to nineteen nearly doubled to 244,124 between 2002 and 2006.
A Reading Group Guide to Perfect by Ellen Hopkins