New Girl Part 35

The water was cold and biting. It was the same old dream, I figured, where I was caught under the waves and couldn't find the surface. But this time it was different. Two hands grasped me and pulled me up out of the water. I breathed desperately, coughing water from my lungs. When I opened my eyes, it wasn't a rainy scene on turbulent waters as I had expected. It was that moment right before the sun sets, when all the sky is golden, and the water sparkles invitingly as if it had never done any harm to anyone.

And there was Becca again, as perfect as she had looked the last time we'd met in my dreams.

She smiled at me. "h.e.l.lo."

My throat was tight, but this time I could speak. "Becca."

She considered me for a moment. "I wish I had met you."

"M-me?"

"Yes, you. You would have been a worthy adversary for me. I think I would have liked you." She laughed the coquettish laugh I'd always imagined she would have. "You would not have liked me, however."

She paused and her smile faded. "You are everything I ever wanted or pretended to be."

My voice was gone from me again, and all I could do was listen.

"I went about it all wrong. I lied and cheated and craved attention, while never seeing why I should deserve it. But you didn't scratch your way to the top. You lived a year in my shadow, but somehow you still never lost your light. You wondered what was so wrong about you that people wouldn't want to be around you, but then you realized that you were someone worth knowing, and did not understand why no one else could see that. I was popular and adored for pretending to be a person like you. But I hated myself, and felt ugly and shameful."

She shook her golden head and looked down at her lap. "Max never wanted me, but I made him stay by making him feel guilty. Johnny never wanted me either, but I appealed to his weaknesses to obtain him. The main weakness being that he'd never felt that he was as good as Max, and I made him feel like he was better. My family wanted me to be more, but all I could do was push them away. You never would have done the things I did. And I'm sorry that you ever had to feel like there was something wrong with you. Believe me, I was the messed-up one."

"Th-this is all just a dream."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right." Her face went very serious, and she kneeled in front of me. "I was never going to change. And I let my own internal misery end my own life and ruin everyone's around me if they got close enough. Please find Dana. Tell her to step down. Ask her what I ever did to earn her friends.h.i.+p. Tell her she will be okay."

I shook my head, not understanding. Becca grabbed my shoulders and spun me back around. Suddenly I was walking in the darkness, but I couldn't see where to. Finally my surroundings materialized around me, and I saw that I was on the top floor of the old mansion, where some storage rooms were and I didn't know what else. I'd never been up here. There was a dim light at the end of the hallway. I blinked, becoming more and more aware as I grew closer. It was a balcony that looked out at the ocean. There was someone there. I blinked again. It was a tall, thin figure standing on a chair, about to step onto the wide ledge of the balcony.

"Dana!" I yelled her name, and it echoed in the hallway. She started, and then righted herself. She wanted to see who I was. Her eyes grew wide.

"Becca?"

She was looking straight into my eyes. Something besides my own volition led me to nod.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" Dana said it quietly, sounding resigned.

"Yes. Dana, you have to get down from there. You don't want to do this."

"I don't. I know. But it's going to happen anyway, isn't it? Why should I live, if it's just going to be awful like this forever?"

"It won't be." The words came from my mouth without my ever thinking them. "You will be okay. I never earned your friends.h.i.+p. You gave it all to me, and I never gave you anything back. You did nothing wrong other than being my friend to begin with. You didn't have to try and save me. You knew I was screwed up, but you couldn't stop me from ruining my life. You tried to be nice to me and listen, but it's not your fault that you couldn't change me."

She looked as though she was taking in what my lips were saying.

"It'll be okay. It'll be okay." I said the words, and then slipped into dreamless unconsciousness.

I could not remember my dream. But when I awoke, I felt as though a weight had been lifted.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

I DON'T THINK I BELIEVED SHE WAS REALLY DEAD until I was at her funeral.

I had spent ten months building up a case against Becca in my mind. I had turned her into my rival. All the while, she'd just been an unseen body being whipped around by currents and undertow.

She was supposed to be the reason for everything that had happened this year. She was supposed to come back. Not that I'd wanted her to. How many times had I wondered what would happen to everyone if she did? I never had a happy answer for that. And that's a terrible thing to think.

But here she was. Here was everyone else. Here I was. In a church.

I wasn't being selfish; I knew this wasn't about me. That was the problem. I had spent a year thinking about this girl, resenting her at times, and that entire time, she'd been just a ghost. She wasn't even real anymore. She couldn't fight back. She was innocent. The dead always are. I think it would be hard to stand over a dead body and ever feel like they completely deserved it. Once someone dies...I don't know, I don't want to spout off something about how we come into this world the same way we leave it-alone-because I don't think that's so.

We come into the world the furthest thing from alone. We come into the world with everyone fawning over us, and helping us. That's just not how it is when we die. I don't know what's different. Maybe it's the fact that when you look at someone's dead body you see their entire lives flattened, with an end point. When I was eight, and went to my grandfather's funeral, I had that realization. I didn't even know him. But you look at that person...and you see everything they ever felt, thought, cried over, worried over, was thrilled by, and you realize that someday someone will look down at you when your brain is quiet and you're lying in your last bed. You realize that everything you think and feel now will be encompa.s.sed in the hyphen between two years. It's not even that depressing, it's just true.

But of course we couldn't see Becca's body, thanks to the ravages of the deep waters. She was just the mystery she'd always been and would be to me. She was on the inside of that chestnut box, only inches of wood separating her from us. Her body anyway.

It was colder than it should be in May. Not just for me, but for everyone. Rain was pounding against the tall, stained-gla.s.s windows and no doubt reminding everyone grimly of the night she died, almost a year ago. For me it was just a haunting sound track to the dour scene in front of me, and the gruesome one from the past that my subconscious couldn't help but imagine.

I was out of place. I knew that. Everyone else knew that. I didn't know Becca Normandy. But I had to come.

I went to the service kind of early, in an effort to not arrive late and have a rerun of my first a.s.sembly at Manderley. So from my seat, somewhere in the back left middle, as inconspicuous as possible, I just watched. Her parents were sitting up front, quietly sitting a respectful and quiet distance from each other. Her mother wore a hat with that net down in front of her face like the girls in old movies. I could see that she had the same blond hair as her daughter. The neat waves met the shoulders of her black dress. She was still, like her husband. There were a few other people on the same bench that I supposed were the rest of Becca's family.

More people trickled in that I didn't know. All of the men were wearing dark suits, which made it seem like we were all being transported to another time. All the women and girls wore black panty hose and sensible heels. Everyone looked neat, no one stunning. This wasn't the time for that.

There were more people on my row now, and no one seemed to notice me. I was exceedingly grateful for that. If I could have come to the funeral and been invisible, I would have chosen to. Eventually, I saw people I knew. Dana, Madison, Julia, other people I'd seen around, many of the teachers. Professor Crawley. Johnny walked in toward the end, but didn't see me. He sat at the edge of one of the rows nearby. Max saw me and acknowledged me with a nod. But we couldn't sit together, I knew that. It would feel wrong somehow.

Cam and Blake walked in, hand in hand, behind him. Blake and I locked eyes, and she gave me a sweet smile. I think all I did was give a watery look back at her, but she continued walking silently and took a seat. She was the one who'd convinced me to come. I'd insisted that it might be weird; I never even knew Becca.

"Funerals are about saying goodbye, and about the ending of a person's life. It's not like showing up to someone's birthday when you don't know her," she'd said sagely to me. "It's about showing that you care."

I was in a haze as the priest spoke. Everyone was absolutely wordless and motionless. It was a horrific reason we were all here and there was nothing good in it. He went on for a while, saying all of the comforting things he had probably said a hundred times to groups like ours.

When it came time for the eulogies, I braced myself. Dana was first. She stood in front of the black sea of people, and breathed visibly.

"This is my first funeral," she began, "and I don't know what to do. I know to be sad, and I know to honor Becca. That's all I know. Maybe that's all there is." She furrowed her brow. "I worried about Becca when I knew her, and I only worried more about her from that night on. The night it happened, I guess. And ever since then...up until a few days ago, I mean, I was sure she'd come back. But she's really gone. I don't know what I can say. I wish I could have done something to help her. So with the help of Mrs. Normandy, I collected these pictures and made this slide show. I thought it would be a good way to remember my friend."

A minute later, the lights were dimmed, and there was a projection on a screen.

And there it was. Right beneath her name, Rebecca Elisabeth Normandy. The two dates with the hyphen in between. Then the music started.

The first picture was of a pretty blonde child holding a pumpkin and smiling under a golden sun, one of her front teeth missing. The projector light faded out and then back in to show another image, from a Christmas morning, gaping excitedly and animatedly at a book I couldn't see the t.i.tle of. Another, her blowing out ten candles on a pink birthday cake, surrounded by friends at a dining room table. More childhood pictures pa.s.sed by. Then what looked to me like her first year of public high school. She was smiling gamely, wearing corduroys and a white, long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt, and her hair was in a tight ponytail.

The quiet hush of the room was filled now with the echoes of sniffs, a sob here and there, and some uncomfortable s.h.i.+fting.

Some of the pictures after that were ones I'd seen on the wall at Manderley. It was obvious that she'd changed a lot in her last few years-not only in age but in posture and att.i.tude. I gave an almost involuntary shake of the head as I thought of it.

She was laughing in one picture, and holding a red Solo cup, and I saw that she had her tongue pierced.

There were suddenly no pictures from home. All of them were taken at Manderley or with other friends I'd seen and interacted with but never gotten to know.

The slide show faded for the last time, after the picture of Max and her where she was laughing. Then the church lights came back up.

I hadn't noticed, but Dana had stepped down already.

Max took her place. He didn't rush into talking. He stood there for a moment, and everyone sat comfortably, letting him take his time. A line came between his brows as he leaned on the sides of the podium.

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "This is very difficult for me, of course. And I have very few words for how I feel. I'm not a big talker." I noticed people, especially women, looking sympathetically up at him. "She was beautiful. And really vibrant." He shrugged. "There was just something about her. She would have loved having you all here. Everyone coming here today is a really great way to honor her." He looked down at the podium, seeing something beyond it. "I will never forget Becca. I know that much. I will never, ever forget her."

He stepped down, and stopped in front of her parents. He shook Mr. Normandy's hand and leaned down to kiss Mrs. Normandy on the cheek. She took and held on to his hand for a moment and then she rose, and he patiently remained standing there until she let him go with a pat.

She was next. I hadn't seen her face yet, and was surprised to see that it was not puffy or red. It was stone-cold as she walked to the podium.

"I want to thank all of you for coming today. It means a great deal to our family."

And then she stepped down, and back into her seat. What? Blake, who was sitting a few rows in front of me, looked back at me. I shook my head, baffled. That was her mother. That was all she had to say?

I thought for a moment maybe her husband would step up and speak for both of them, but no. It came to a close. Becca and her coffin would be flown back to her home in Chicago for the burial at the family plot.

Everyone poured out of the chapel, and I veered off up some stairs. I felt strange, and a little overcome. I needed to break away. I didn't want to stand outside with everyone or mingle, or feel how I was feeling in front of anyone else. They would think I was a.s.suming their grief as my own, and I didn't want that. There was a bathroom at the top of the stairs, and I ran in.

I leaned against the wall, not entering one of the three stalls, and felt the cold tiles through my dress. I shut my eyes and breathed. So much had changed for me. So much had happened. And I couldn't even think about any of it without feeling blasphemous and selfish.

A moment later, I jumped as the door opened. It was Becca's mother. Her face had changed. She still wasn't crying, but I could see something like desperation in her eyes. It reminded me of when Max had taken me down to the beach and had looked so hollowed.

"Oh," she said, surprised to see me, too.

I couldn't think of anything to say, and leaving immediately would seem rude. She stood in front of one of the mirrors and tried to stand up straight. A few seconds later, she had collapsed onto the floor into tears.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know her. I didn't know Becca. I didn't know how to soothe someone even, not for something like this. So I just did what I felt compelled to do. I knelt down next to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned almost imperceptibly toward me and laid a hand over mine.

Neither of us said a word for a few minutes. I didn't ask if she was okay, because what a useless question that was. She wasn't okay. I could see that. I didn't ask if there was anything I should do. I knew I couldn't do anything. I didn't ask if she wanted to talk. If she wanted to, she would.

When her sobbing subsided, she patted my hand as she had Max's, and took a deep breath. She whispered an apology, and I shook my head.

"Don't apologize."

"Were you one of her Manderley girls?"

"I- No. I just transferred this past year. I never knew her."

She nodded slowly. "Heard of her, no doubt."

"Yes, I've heard a lot. Everyone talks about her all the time. She really made an impact."

She raised her eyebrows knowingly. "Oh, I'm sure she did."

"I had to come to the funeral. I know I didn't know her personally, but...I don't know, it sort of felt like I did." My honesty flowed out of me before I could stop it. "I hope that's okay."

"Of course." Mrs. Normandy stared at her slightly aging hands. "I don't know what to do with Becca gone."

I didn't know what to say.

She shook her head and went on. "I don't know why I feel that way. She hated me. She wouldn't let anyone near her. I'm so...I'm so mad at her for that. Why couldn't she just let me know her?" Her tears began anew. "I want my baby back. I want her to come home and I want to do it right this time! I just let her do whatever she wanted. I shouldn't have done that."

She needed to say this, I could tell. She still didn't look at me. I listened, and said nothing.

"She was always loved, but she was always cold. She was never happy with what she had. Nothing moved her. Nothing. I don't know that she ever loved anyone, or hated anyone." She waited a few seconds before narrowing her eyes as if trying to figure something out. "But she hurt people. She would say hurtful things, and do things just to do them. I just...I just want her back. I want to understand her. I want to try harder to understand..." She breathed deeply again. "It's my fault. It must be. I don't know what I did wrong...."

I felt motivated to speak up. "Sometimes things happen, and they aren't because of anyone. Sometimes they just are."

She looked up, as if she was startled to find me next to her.

"Maybe."

I nodded, not knowing what else to say as she didn't take her gaze from me.

"I'm pregnant." She whispered the words. "I haven't even told my husband yet. It feels wrong to be bringing someone else into the world after losing Rebecca. But what if this baby is the same?" She laid a hand on her stomach. "What if I can't raise a happy child? What if I'm just...unfit?"

She was pleading with me for an answer I knew I couldn't give. So I just shook my head and said, "You will be fine, and so will your baby. I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong with Becca. She just was who she was. It's not your fault."

The woman searched my eyes, and a small, sad smile appeared on her face. After another few seconds, she started to stand. I helped her up, and noticed she smelled a little bit like alcohol.

She recovered herself, as if morphing back to a former self, to what she had been when I'd first seen her. As if this had never happened.

She looked at me for a long moment, mouthed the words thank you and left. I would never see her again.

I was in the bathroom for fifteen minutes after that. Recovering, or something.

When I went back downstairs, most people were gone. Cabs, cars, town cars and one limo were slos.h.i.+ng out of the parking lot. I stepped out of the tall open doors and under the awning.

Now it was time to graduate.

Somehow the kick of graduating had ebbed. But seeing my family felt like surfacing for air for the first time in months.

My parents and Lily flew up the morning of graduation, and we'd be flying back together that night because that was the cheapest way. I only had time to hug them all, and then direct them to the auditorium to wait. The ceremony was starting in an hour.

I put on my cap and gown with everyone else. No one was saying much. I wanted to leave throughout the entire ceremony, which seemed to drag on for days. Some people were back to chatting and laughing, whispering and thinking already of their futures and not of their pasts. But I just couldn't.

I wouldn't have even gone if it hadn't have meant so much to my parents. When it came time for my name to be called, a sense of finality washed over me. I was finished, I thought, walking across the stage to shake hands with the administration. I was finished with high school. Finished with Manderley.

My parents stood and cheered at my name, and I smiled for what felt like the first time in too long. They were proud of me. They'd never have to know about the whole past year, and how awful it had been in some ways.

Could I look at it now with a wise eye and say that it had all been for the best, and that I was better from the experience?