Unlovely (5 page)

"May I have your attention please?
I need you to listen. This is important." Mrs. Abbot waited until most of
her students were at least feigning attention before she continued. "I've
just received some terrible news from Sue, and I'm afraid I'll have to share it
with you."

Mrs. Abbot noticed that several of her
students perked up at the words "terrible news." Teenagers are so
macabre.

"According to Sue, Gretchen Hanson
passed away last night." The teacher allowed a murmur of shocked
disbelief. "She had a severe allergic reaction. Is that right, Sue?"

The class turned to watch Sue nod. This
truly was terrible news, and interesting.

"It's obviously tragic," Mrs.
Abbot said. "I didn't know Gretchen, but I had her older sister in my
class a couple of years ago, and I've met her parents. What a nightmare."

The room was quietly buzzing. ("I
noticed she didn't get on the bus; I just thought she'd gotten a ride!"
"I'm allergic to pollen, but that can't kill you, can it?" "I
loved her! She was so smart, but not stuck up, you know?")

Mrs. Abbot continued, "My
sympathies go out to you, as well, of course. It's devastating to lose a friend
and classmate."

She looked around the room, meeting few
gazes as the students continued to talk among themselves. What an awful way to
start the year.

She raised her voice to command the
class's attention again. "I'm sure there will be arrangements made, and
they'll announce some time and place where we can we can all pay our respects.
Sue, are you close to her family?"

"Yes."

"Can you keep us informed?"

Another nod, and the chatter began again.
Mrs. Abbot was sympathetic, but she knew that the best thing to do in a
situation like this was to get on with things.

"Despite what you all must be
feeling right now, we have to continue with our lesson," Mrs. Abbot said.
"Let's finish getting these books distributed, and then I'll give you your
assignment for tonight. You can spend the last fifteen minutes of the period
talking quietly among yourselves, if you wish."

Mrs. Abbot went through the rest of the
attendance list quickly. She presented the rudiments of the first chapter and
put the assignment on the board, and then left the last third of the class time
free for group catharsis. Sue repeated the details of the event as she
understood them (wasp sting, horrible reaction, ambulance was late). This was
followed by whispered conversations and a bit of quiet crying by the more
sensitive girls. Soon, the majority of the students returned to their desks and
set to work on the posted assignment. (What was there left to say? No one wants
homework the first day back at school!)

Mrs. Abbot was surprised to find most of
the students working during the free time she'd given them. She'd assumed most
would take advantage of the opportunity if not to openly mourn, to at least
remember their friend and share stories about their time with her.

Perhaps this would be a good group,
after all.

Claudia went through the rest of her schedule for the
day. There were no other surprises except happy ones: Melanie and Claudia
shared not only lunch period, but also honors English and history classes. The
passing of Gretchen Hanson, the first person in their small class to die,
dominated conversation in the hallways. The students' reactions ranged from
grief-stricken and numb, to curious and amazed. To die in such a way: taken out
by a bug! Death by bug had nothing to do with being stupid, or getting drunk,
or getting into a car with someone who was drunk. It could happen to anyone.
You just never knew. Gretchen had been smart and funny. And she was so sweet,
wasn't she? It was just weird to think she wouldn't be here anymore.

Claudia went through the day feeling
like she'd been punched. Truth be told – and naturally she wouldn't say this
out loud today of all days – she had never liked Gretchen much. For years
Claudia had viewed her as competition in math and science class; they'd fought
to establish the curve. Claudia thought Gretchen was arrogant, loud and
sarcastic. She was insufferable to work with on a group project, always sure
she was right and refusing input from anyone else, but quick to share the blame
whenever something went wrong. And since a nasty encounter on the bus ride home
from a field trip last spring, Claudia had avoided her altogether.

Melanie hadn't gone on the science class
trip to the county dam that day, so Claudia had been obliged to find someone
else to sit with. She'd ended up next to Gretchen. The first fifteen minutes
had gone okay – both of them just ignoring each other and reading – when
Gretchen suddenly turned to Claudia and looked at her through
slitted
eyes.

"You know, I've never looked at you
so close up before, Claudia."

"
Hmmph
,"
Claudia answered, absorbed in her book.

"Did you know you have a
mustache?"

Claudia wasn't sure she'd heard her
right, and turned to Gretchen, startled.

"No, seriously, no offense. I was
just wondering if you knew. I've never seen such a thick mustache on a
girl." Gretchen smiled. It was a sneaky smile, like a weasel would smile
if it could.

Claudia returned her attention to her
book, wanting to disappear into the seat. Why was she being attacked? Where was
this coming from? Claudia knew she had a little mustache. Of course she did.
She closely examined every inch of her face every night. She just hadn't
thought anyone else would notice it.

"You know you can get rid of it if
you don't like it. You could shave it. No, wait – you can't, can you? It would
come in even darker and thicker, probably."

Claudia tried to ignore her. Gretchen
would have to stop persecuting her if she didn't get a reaction, wouldn't she?
And who was Gretchen to talk, anyway? She could stand to lose twenty-five
pounds or so, but Claudia was too polite to bring it up. Claudia glanced around
quickly. No one else seemed to be listening. That was a small blessing.

"Maybe you should just leave it and
hope no one else notices. It's not like you have a boyfriend who will feel it
tickle when you kiss. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be? What if
you had more facial hair than the guy you were dating? That would be
weird."

Claudia felt tears stinging the back of
her eyes. "Will you shut up?"

"Oh. Okay. Hey, I'm sorry, Claudia.
I didn't know you were so touchy about your appearance," Gretchen returned
her eyes to her own book. "I thought I was just stating the obvious. You
don't seem like someone who cares how she looks. I just never had that
impression."

"Why are you being such a bitch?
What did I do to you?"

Gretchen shook her head and without
removing her eyes from her book muttered, "I'm a bitch? She's calling me a
bitch? It's not like I came right out and said she was ugly." Gretchen
looked out of the corner of her eye to see a tear heading down Claudia's cheek.
"You act awfully high and mighty for someone who should be grateful anyone
talks to her at all."

Claudia sat in stony silence the rest of
the trip home. She was shocked by the unprovoked attack, and the very fact that
the whole thing was so cold-blooded made it even worse, so much more credible
than if the words had been said in the heat of argument. Claudia had known she
wasn't pretty, but she'd never thought she was positively homely. Since that
field trip Claudia had avoided any contact with Gretchen and tried to think of
her as little as possible.

Nonetheless, she found herself on this
first day of high school unable to think of anyone or anything else. It
thrummed through her brain: twenty-four hours ago Gretchen was alive, and now
she was dead. She kept imagining how Gretchen's face would look: blue skin,
bloated lips,
bulging
, open eyes. Her body must be in
the hospital, or maybe it was already in a funeral home. Was someone looking at
her? Was she naked?

And what about her soul? Claudia had
thought that the whole subject of death and the disposition of the soul would
be something she would contend with when it was more relevant, when she was old
and tired of living anyway, but now she found herself forced to ponder the
eternal question. Of course she had known other people who had died, older
people, and she hadn't been overly concerned about where they'd ended up; for
example, Claudia had no problem believing her great-aunt, who was eighty-seven
when she died, was in heaven. She had been prepared to go. But Gretchen had
died so young. Had she done everything she was supposed to do to get to go on
somewhere? Was she off to receive some celestial reward? Did everyone get to go
to heaven?

Claudia returned home exhausted and
depressed. She explained to her mother what had happened to Gretchen, gave a
quick rundown of the rest of the day, and then headed upstairs to her room to
be alone and think. She stayed there until she joined her parents at a subdued
dinner, during which Sylvia, who was now terrified of the threat of tiny
backyard assassins, tried to convince Tony to hire an exterminator. Tony
refused.

After dinner Claudia headed back up and
tried to distract herself with magazines and music. She even did sit-ups and
jumping jacks, anything to occupy her mind and body in an effort to stop
obsessing about Gretchen and her death.

After she'd finished straightening her
sock drawer and lain down in bed again, it finally struck her what was
bothering her most. It wasn't the bleak fact of mortality, or the tragedy of a
promising life snuffed out too soon. No, it was the tone of the discussions in
the hallways that day that annoyed her so powerfully. Everyone had been talking
about Gretchen's death as if it were some terrible accident, as if death were a
bogeyman on the corner who would just snatch anyone at any time without rhyme
or reason. They were saying what they thought they should say, avoiding the
truth of the matter.

It was ridiculous. Claudia wasn't a
particularly religious person, but she did believe that there was some sort of
order to the universe. Didn't everyone? Was it possible that all of her peers
believed in chaos? No, it was impossible. They couldn't, or they wouldn't be
able to live from day to day. They'd be nervous wrecks.

No. They all knew why Gretchen was dead
just as well as Claudia did. It was perfectly clear why Gretchen died, but no
one wanted to articulate it because it seemed too cruel. No one wants to speak
ill of the dead or hurt anyone's feelings. But refusing to acknowledge the
truth of the matter didn't make it any less true, and pretending that this
horrible thing happened to a good person for no reason – saying it to spare the
feelings of someone who, for whatever reason, cared about Gretchen – didn't do
anyone any good in the end.

Claudia, for one, would say it. She
might not have the nerve to say it in front of her classmates, but she could
say it here, alone in her room.

"Gretchen was an evil person. She
deserved to die. I'm glad she's dead and I hope she's in hell." Claudia
said it loudly and assertively, and was pleased at the way it sounded. It
sounded as right as a prayer.

Obviously, some force in the universe
agreed with at least part of that thought, because once Claudia allowed herself
to feel it, to acknowledge it, she was finally able to relax and go to sleep.

Gretchen was given a closed casket funeral. Claudia
went with her mother and Melanie; the church was packed. Everyone kept saying
that Gretchen was in heaven now, but Claudia didn't know how they could all be
so sure. No one could see inside Gretchen's head or heart. Claudia kept her
mouth shut.

The weeks went by and familiar routines were resumed.
After a while, people didn't even speak about Gretchen anymore, except to
collect money to have a tree planted outside the window of the chemistry
classroom and a tiny plaque placed next to it in her honor. There was also talk
of dedicating a page in the yearbook to her if space allowed. Besides that,
Gretchen seemed to fade from everyone's memory.

Claudia couldn't forget her. She
continued to contemplate her death. It gave her comfort, when everything else
in her life seemed to be going haywire, that there existed some order in the
cosmos and that in the end, justice would be done.

Claudia sat in the common area with a cup of coffee and
a collection of O. Henry short stories, but it was hard to pay attention to
"The Ransom of Red Chief." Mary Ann had just received an enormous
bouquet of roses and put them on the desk in the nurse's station. She stood
back to admire them and receive the compliments of her colleagues.

"Who do you suppose those are
from?" Claudia asked Maggie, sitting nearby with her crochet project. She
was making yet another granny square lap blanket.

"I assume they're from her
husband."

Claudia watched as Mary Ann, all smiles,
crossed the common area on her way to the kitchenette. She was very pretty and
tan, and she wasn't dressed like a nurse. She was wearing white linen slacks
and a turquoise blouse, her hair blond and carefully coiffed. She looked sporty
and casual, like a model for a Liz Claiborne ad.