We The Pathetic (Part 2)

Chapter 2
La dac annun zee Battarey

Wesley grimaced under the light of his first period. Why the florescents? he wondered.
The French seemed to him like a string of random syllables. He hoped that when the year got farther in, he could remember a little bit more-at least enough to understand the teacher.
"Tu besoin jat apache ne la dac annun zee battarey?" was the string of syllables that he thought he heard. It probably wasn’t what she had really said. She stared Expectantly at him.
"Euh… oui?"
She smiled and handed him a traffic cone. He stared at it for a moment, then moved on to stare at her for a moment. She was still smiling. He smiled tiredly and set the cone next to his seat. He found himself doubting that she had said anything about a traffic cone.
As soon as she had turned away from everyone, her smile shifted to an expression of relieve. "Mme Thénardier"- she was surprised that the hiring committee hadn’t caught the reference- spoke very little french. She knew that "tu" was you, and "besoin" had something to do with drinking. After that, she had just said "Jat apache ne la dac annun zee battarey", and had hoped that it either meant something or that the kids spoke less french than she did. Generally, she was right. The traffic cone was just her ace in the hole. The students would either decide that she knew a lot more idisums (those were words that meant things that they didn’t really mean) than they did, that she knew more words than they did, that she was a weirdo, or maybe if she had just sent the kid to get a drink of water, that could’ve been the hall pass. She hoped for any but the third one, though even that wouldn’t be so bad, because most high schoolers like a weird teacher who gives you traffic cones for no reason.
Wesley turned to Dawn- she sat behind him- and asked "Did she just ask if I need a traffic cone?"
"Wha? Oh. No. not french."
"What?"
"Wasn’t French. Shouldn’t Val Jean be on his way?"
"Val… Oh. Thénardier. Woah."
"Mme. Thénardier" turned at the sound of her "name".
"Oui?" that meant yes, she was sure.
"Oh, uh, Du rien.."
That meant you’re welcome. She smiled at how much dumber these kids were than her.

In order to simplify things, most characters that follow and haven’t yet been introduced will be written in prose form, except for a few who will live in epic poems or weirder forms. But remember that each of the prose characters will see life differently; most will see it as a novel or movie, like Wesley and Chris. A fair number live in a dream, like Dawn. A few are in plays, a few less in comics, and virtually no one but Rob see life as a CD or Album. The novel livers are divided predictably: some of them see life as a romance novel; others a comic novel, others a sci-fi novel, and some a fantasy novel. A select few read it as a conspiracy theory novel that decides that the universe is a novel. The same sorts of divisions apply to the movies.

I

Summer was a sweet girl. A bit of a suck-up, but only because it was her nature to be nice to everyone and to make things easier for herself. She was cute, in a strange way. Sort of plain, but she had a nice body, good control over her legs making them sexy, and the clearest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Her hair was graying, despite being a teenager. Most people thought she was dying it for some reason or another, though no one could decide what possible reason she would have to do that.
Her best friend was a gay boy, Seth, who had very nice pointy hair. He greased it often, and it quite literally framed his face because of the cut and gel. The sides of the bangs bent inward, just around the curve of his head. He was absolutely flamboyant, but people noticed that he enjoyed Summer’s random back massages a bit more than even most straight men would. They were rarely apart.

Act 1 Scene 2

Curtain opens on a classroom. Larger than Charlotte’s house. Very messy and very comfortable looking. A row of couches sits halfway up the stage, and behind them is a row of tables. The couches and tables curve on the ends, creating the illusion of a half "theater in the round". There are high school students draped over each couch, and each other. Backpacks are scattered across the floor. Books are scattered across the tables. Up Right is an alcove with a computer and about three large desks; the teacher’s region. Main exit down right, with an auxiliary exit down left hidden by chalk boards. There’s a PA box near the top of the right wall, dead center. Rosenshrug’s classroom; also called the Theatre room. Mrs. Rosenshrug is already present and seated in her region, staring hopelessly at the computer. Enter Charlotte from Down Right.

Charlotte: (stops soon after entering, and turns to the audience) It’s always like this. Always, they’re all draped over each other. It’s the first day of school, and already they’ve scattered their stuff around the room. I’m not sure how many of those people are actually theatre students. Can’t tell how many of them have ever been in this room. Can’t even be sure how many of them are even people. They could be dead, sleeping, fucking, anything, there’s no way to tell. Nowhere to sit, either. (She advances into the room, and begins to prod bodies. They all twitch, confirming that they are living bodies. She finally gives up and sits at the back of the room, where no one is sitting yet.) None of them will give me much notice as long as I don’t try to sit on them.

Rosenshrug: (Stands up from her desk and goes into the center of the room. She’s a kind, but angry and strict, oldish woman. She’s also the school’s theatre director twenty years running, and on her third husband. But she isn’t a traditional woman who would have two ex-husbands. She looks younger than she is.) Welcome back to school. We’re going to do a lot this year…

Enter Summer and Seth through the down right door. They advance to the couches and sit together. Almost mystically, a gap large enough to seat both of them opens. They’re flirting and nearly fondling each other. Rosenshrug stares at them for a moment, and turns to the audience very exaggeratedly, with the most exaggerated expression of ire on her face. She turns back to them and begins to scream

Rosenshrug: What the hell are you two doing walking in late and clinging to each other? This is a class room! Summer, Seth, you should know better than that! This is not your home! This is a place of learning and acting! And… Seth, what are you doing?

Seth: (In a very high, flutey voice) Five, four, three, two, one…

The bell rings. Rosenshrug is at a loss, and stares at them for a moment. Then she looks back to the audience, again with an exaggerated look of frustration on her face. Students begin to snicker.

Rosenshrug: Alright, stop laughing! We’ve had are sillies for the morning, let’s get to work! Now, what class is this?

Seth: Uhm, Mater? You don’t have a class right now.

Charlotte: (aside; everyone else in the room freezes and the lights come solely onto her) Mrs. Rosenshrug is a bit forgetful. She changes her mind frequently. I seem to be the only person who notices this. And she makes us call her Mater. She thinks it means Mother. Maybe it does. I don’t know. I don’t do it. It bothers me. I like her, and I don’t want to associate her with my mother. (She sits back, and action resumes)

Rosenshrug: Then what are all of you doing in here?

Summer: Most of us don’t have a class either.

Seth: Can’t say for sure that none of us are ditching. I’m not, though.

Charlotte: I’m going to hate third period, I think. (she slouches down, then suddenly sprawls out across several chairs. She’s deceptively long, and she has pleasant legs. Shut curtain, and close spotlight on her despairing body)


We snatched the following out of the mind of some random student between third and fourth period on that day. It didn’t make much sense to us, but maybe you can make something of it.
"It’s beautiful because it is. Look at the blending of the colors. Not a blending. But the mixing. It’s really three colors of water color, then two colors of pen. But it’s so gentle. They’re well melded. And there are spirals, and pretty letters. And the cat, with it’s gold and silver gleam in its eye. It’s beautiful. The message and the meaning, too. It conveys a soulfelt thing. She gave it to me for my birthday. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever gotten for my birthday, because you can tell that care went into it, that the artist cared about me. It’s why she’s my best friend. Or maybe it’s because she’s my best friend. I’m not sure. I’ve no way to tell. It’s all beautiful though."
We can’t make heads or tails of it. Hope you can. It could help you out somewhere along the line.

II

"Mme. Thénardier" had fourth period off. It was right before lunch. So she got to leave fifty minutes early for lunch. When she came back, ten minutes before the end of the lunch period, which was half an hour, she found a CD on her desk with the following recorded on it.
"Nous tout portons les masques. Ils sont une partie de vie. C’est natural pour les humanes. Ma masque est un vraiment. C’est une contradictione, non? Nous sommes les contradictionnes. Mais, nos masques sont nous. A Halloween, nous mettons plus masques. Les masques sont faux. Nos masques sont vrai. Tu sais? Tu grok? Je ne peux pas dire dans Francais sans une papier. Ma masque est allé. Mais, sans ma masque, je ne suis pas moi. Ma masque est retourné. Je suis moi. Mettez son masque avec fierté! Et ne pas ratez ca… Je dit en Francais.
Qu’est-ce que son masque?"
She didn’t understand a word of it, but she didn’t recognize the voice, either. It didn’t sound like any students she had had yet. But it also didn’t sound particularly human. Perhaps like a robot or something. Or a voice through a filter.
She put the CD away in her desk. She didn’t think about it again for a long time.

Cycle Two

Language didn’t make sense, because she wasn’t speaking it right. She was saying something else, in a language that didnt’ exist yet. It was the language from the island across the sea, the soft sea, with its foam and wrapping. It’s a warm sea, like the one that falls. And then she’s flowing through the river again, but not floating, something’s weighing her down, something full of books that’re full of crooks. Where’d captain cook go? The hook crab must be back soon. And now they’re talking about dreams that other people had, dreams that meld into hers, and she can feel the song of the authors flowing through her, with its slow beat and surface meaning. Remember the green light at the end of the dock? Docked the payment for the words he all wrote, the repetitive motions of authorship and creating the universes, and it’s all swirling, and then it’s gone. But she doesn’t have to move this time, the sea comes to her. The river doesn’t flow at her though. It’s philosophical; she can speak to these ones. She Philoes the Sophos. Philo dough goes to the Sapphos. Sapphos and Lesbos, sister lands. And then they go to some more histories; the Xhosa are Closer to A click than coming to a close. The case was closed, and so was the class. Glasses clink and click closed. Clackety clackety, the train in the halls goes on. Brief nap, respite from the dreams, as she returns to their home.

Scene 2- Interior Hallway

Shot opens on Chris walking down a school hallway. The camera is in front of him and moves with him, in an excessively dramatic shot. He’s got a dopey, almost thoughtful look on his face. Kids are moving aroudn him, but the camera angle, slightly lower than his face and looking up, make it look as if they’re swirling around him and curving away. He’s carrying his duffel bag-which is now only partly filled with footballs, the rest is taken up by books, all of them low level text books. This is only noted for realism; the duffel bag will not be opened for some time.
Kristin (off-screen): Chris! Hey, Chris!
Chris turns away from the camera, which pans up so that it’s at eye level with him. There’s a brief moment where the audience can see a Slender, almost Twigish girl in a short, cheer-leading skirt running up to Chris. She has brown hair, shoulder length, and it’s in pigtails. She throws her arms around him, and he drops his duffel bag and grips her and pulls her into an almost forceful kiss. She doesn’t seem to enjoy it, nor does she seem to not enjoy it. But her face conveys that she does enjoy it, and he pulls her close. A few freshmen (distinguished by being shorter and more nervous looking than the rest of the cast) stop and stare at the, but no one who’s been in high school for even more than a couple days is phased. They finally detach after thirty seconds of the camera panning around them.
Chris: Hey babe.
Kristin has a content, and fairly sultry look on her face.
Kristin: I had fun Friday night.
Chris: Yeah, me too. That restaurant was great.
Kristin: I hated the restaurant. I meant after we left.
Chris: Oh, that was fun too.
Kristin: You want to have some fun again?
Chris: I got a class to go to, right now, actually.
Kristin leans forward and begins to whisper in his ear. The camera changes to a close up of the ear she’s whispering in, getting her face in.
Kristin: You don’t need to go to your fifth period. Besides, I didn’t get enough… to eat… at lunch.
Chris smiles.
Chris: That sounds like fun. It’s only English; I don’t live in England.
Kristin Grins, wide.
Kristin: I went to the Naydeer store earlier; let me just get the things from my locker.
She runs off and opens her locker. Chris grins into the camera. Then he opens up his mouth to speak.
Chris: Heh, she’s so dumb. They don’t speak English in England.

It has just come to our attention that there has been no explanation of why We are the Pathetic. Almost five thousand words into the novel, and the title of the novel has not been explained by its narrators, even casually. Or has it? We don’t know. Either way, we will introduce you to the group that refer to themselves as "We the Pathetic", who we can tell you right now are, in a way, representative of all humanity, (But come to think of it, what characters and groups aren’t representative of all humanity in a work such as this one? Well, we’ll get back to you on that one) in the very next section. They are able to refer to themselves in this way because they have become partially aware of their patheticness; the reason that We can call ourselves the Pathetic is because we are trying to emphasize this theme, which it would be wrong to tell you straight out, though if you haven’t figured it out by now you’re a bit slow. If you have figured it out, don’t worry, the themes of this story run much deeper than that; that’s only our primary one. If you haven’t, don’t worry, because we’ll give you many more hints, and one of them is bound to hit you. If you just don’t care about the theme, don’t worry, because we think that the plot is rather, well, perhaps interesting is the wrong word, but rather fun at the very least.

III

We come now to Tessa. She is a beautiful, fairly tall, skinny but not twigish, psuedo-skater punk, flirtatious, eighteen years old, Korean girl. Only a number of other girls, a few gay boys, and perhaps two straight boys had noticed that she was intelligent and could act, too. She had admirers amongst all groups who knew her. Boys were attracted to her, as were lesbians, and a number of straight girls were jealous of her. Which is not to say that girls are jealous; for one thing, guys would do the same thing, and for another, there were also a number of straight girls who were her friends. And the males lusting after her weren’t just lusty; many of them were her friends too, and many of them admired her other qualities. Not the majority, though. There was a small group of them who admired her for her other qualities, about half of them preferring her other qualities to her "damn hotness", and were all friends. This small group recognized each other as equals in their lack of chances to get her. Most of them were her friends too. This small cluster jokingly referred to themselves as We the Pathetic. Among their numbers was Wesley. Rob was also one of her admirers, but he hated most of We the Pathetic, except for Wesley, just because they admired Tessa, and he objected to the name because he thought he still had a chance.

Track Two
(Very Dashboard Confessional throughout)

She sits there
With that look upon her face
Like she knows what I’m going to say
Like she’s going to say yes!

I’ll ask her what she wants to do
I’ll ask her what where she wants to go
I’ll ask her if she wants to go
with me!

(Chorus)
And she’ll say no
Just like the last time she did
Just like the next time she will
But she’ll smile at me
And I’ll go and try, again!

And She’ll cave in eventually
And I’ll take her to a show
But when I find out it meant nothing
More than we were friends….

(Chorus)

We had a good time while it lasted
I thought I had her in my arms
But they say I never touched her…
So I’ll reach for her again.

(Chorus) x2

It’s going to happen someday…
This girl will kill me…