Burned Gears start grinding. The engine overheats. That's how it all starts. Then, all of a sudden, you just snap. Just like a car, you breakdown. You're stuck in the badlands. Now you realize all the signs were there and you ignored them, completely undeterred by the inevitable. That's when you get confused. You felt this coming on, and did nothing to stop it, but you convince yourself it's not your fault. I mean, after all, this could happen to anyone...right? "One minute you know what you have to do, and you find yourself calling out, 'Veronica.' The next minute, something changes in you, so instead of saying what you know you should've said, you go, 'I'll carry the cup.' So, we come to the quintessential question. At the defining moment, why do we do it? If you know what you should've said, why didn't you say it! I'll tell you why. It's so simple, it's unimaginable. You didn't WANT to say what you should've said. Now- strangely enough-you're less confused. Things are suddenly so clear, and in perfect perspective. You put yourself in the path of the tornado, and you did it on purpose!" At times like these, I stop carrying on because I wonder if I'm saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. I saw the puzzled, spaced-out glaze in her eyes and I knew she was trying to figure me out, trying to figure out what I was saying. She couldn't do it, though. She wouldn't get the hint if at that very moment I had whipped out a Hull Cleaner bottle with my finger prints all over it. Her eyes widened as if she'd just realized I had stopped going on and on. "J.D., are you aware you haven't used the word 'I', and instead you keep saying 'you think' or 'you realize'?" "No, I hadn't, Ms. Flemming." Oh, yeah, she was really in good shape. You can't get anything past guidance counselors-if by anything, you mean diction. I remember thinking I could've said that we killed Heather Chandler, and she would probably ask me if I thought I was more than one person. "You also mentioned Veronica. Is everything okay between you and Veronica? You can talk to me, J.D. Is she the reason you came to see me?" "Yes, actually." Bingo, I thought! Chalk up a point for the school quack. "Alright, so tell me. Are you worried about how the suicides are affecting her?" "No, I'm not worried about Veronica anymore. She committed suicide last night." As weird as I felt telling her, and as much as I was missing Veronica at the time, I couldn't help but love the expression on her face. Her mouth dropped open wide enough to swallow a dick, and her eyes turned sad and teary enough to make you wanna drown. I almost laughed at how ridiculous she looked. You'd think Veronica was her daughter or something! She didn't even know her that well, and all Veronica ever did was mock her, and she was ready to throw herself on the casket before there was one. Meanwhile, I just sat there, trying to look sadder by the moment while this psychology drop-out grabbed a kleenex and offered me one like it was a consolation prize. Sure, your girlfriend hanged herself 12 hours ago, but here, have a tissue. I kinda waved it away, like if I touched it, I'd burst into tears myself. "How did you find out about this, J.D.?" "I went there for dinner, you know. Her mom was making her favorite-spaghetti with lots of oregano." I threw that 50 cent sympathy detail in for the hell of it. "She told me the door would be open, and to just come on up, and there she was-hanging there." I tossed in lots of long pauses, soft whimpers, and darted my eyes all around the room, like I didn't want to talk about it. I wish I'd taped it. I could've submitted it for oscar consideration. "She was hanging by a sheet, motionless, lifeless, and dead." I didn't know how anyone could swallow that tripe, but she burst into tears again, begging for more! "I didn't know what to do, so I just ran out of the house, got on my bike, and rode home. I barely even slept." For a moment, I was almost reverent, almost sincerely moved. I'm not all extremes and rebellion. I missed Veronica. I thought it was pretty fucked up that she wouldn't be there to see my grand scheme realized. I had been wondering whether or not to even go on with it now. Seemed kinda pointless without an audience. Who was I gonna roast marshmallows with? Not only couldn't she accessorize, she had shitty timing! "J.D., I am so sorry for your loss, and I am so sorry that you saw that. You need to come to terms with your loss, and once you've accepted it, you'll realize life is tragic and out of our hands. Then, you'll see that you have to move on, and get on with your life." As much as I hated to admit it, she knew what she was talking about for once. "You know, Ms. Flemming, you're right. The show must go on." "Exactly, J.D. Now, I'd like to talk with you more about this, but the pep rally is due to start in 15 minutes." I loved this. My girlfriend just took her own precious little life, but God forbid we should miss the pep rally! "I want to make an appointment for you to come see me tomorrow, so we can talk more about this, and help you deal with this tragedy. So when is good for you? You can come in..." I stopped listening before she even started talking again. I had already made up my mind. It'd be a waste of my time to make an appointment. She'd be dead tomorrow, and besides, school would be closed! "Can I come back later and make the appointment? I have to go to the bathroom." "Of course, you take all the time you need." She gave me this pathetic brave little smile like I was going to sit in a stall and sulk the rest of the day. It was an insult to everything morbid, a slap in the face to empathy itself-her sitting there, pretending to know what real loss felt like, handing out sympathy like she handed out those fuckin' tissues! I walked out of her office, trudging through the halls as usual, oblivious to everyone around me, headphones, trench and bookbag. I can't help but wonder if I hadn't already been immune to death after all my exposure to it, would I have been numb to the death of my misled girlfriend. I was more angry than sad, because if she had just listened to me in the first place, everything would be peaches and cream. We could be watching the school erupt in flames together and playing strip croquet by that night if she had just had a little more faith in my expertise. The halls started haunting me after I shook Veronica's ghost. Scarier than shit. I was almost in mourning there for a minute. All I had to do was take a look around, and I felt that superiority again. I was better than these beer-guzzling jock assholes and these megabitch queens. I was God taking a stroll through hell judging the sinners. To my left, geek with glasses being tortured by jerk in a letter jacket. To my right, teeny-bopper gossip slaves giggling under their breath as Heather the Cheerleader passed by. Like a reflex, I turned the volume up on my walkman to block it out better. Straight ahead I spotted this girl crying, then I dismissed it when I saw the picture of Ram taped up inside. How pathetic can you get? That girl was in my American History, always asking Heather the Cheerleader about him. One day she was absent, and I overheard Miss McNamara explain to a fellow classmate that Ram said he'd kill himself before he'd ever give that girl the time of day. Isn't ironic? Sad she didn't know how much better off she was. I guess it's true that you should be careful what you wish for, 'cause you just might get it. For no more than a second, I had wished Veronica were still alive. God knows, I lived to regret that, because I was about to get my wish soon enough. Again, the girl just had the shittiest timing! I travelled up the steps to the bathroom, ducked inside an empty stall and whipped out my beautiful bomb that was meant to become a bigger masterpiece-not just a picture worth a thousand words, but a thousand socialites in a thousand pieces sending one vivid message. High school sucks, and teens can't deal with all it's bullshit and hatred. I had myself convinced I was a genius. The statement I was making that would be made with everyone else's lives was so simple, yet profound only angst-ridden teens in the depths of their abysmal depression could've conceived of it. While I was admiring my own handiwork, the narcissistic rebel in me got the better of me. I was perfecto. This was the most logical, meaningful, perfecto thing anyone had ever done! And Veronica wasn't gonna be there to see it! She could've given me the opportunity to explain my petition, at least. The bitch didn't even leave a note! Even Heather, Kurt and Ram had the decency to leave a note. That was another thing. For a minute, I actually diluted myself into thinking they committed suicide of their own volition. I preferred to think of it as involuntary suicide...which is obviously a contradiction in terms, but what did I care. This suicide thing was just about to blow the lid off the melting pot. No one would escape blame. Fuck sugarplums and candycanes! I had blood and intestines and news flashes dancing around my head. They'd blame the parents, the teachers, the cops, Santa Claus and the Easter bunny-hell, they'd blame Big Fun for making that fuckin' song! All of society would suffer the consequences! I had given myself a killer God-complex. I set out to do what I had intended to do all along. I was almost done by the time I had these ideas parading around in my mind. Nothing could stop me. You know how politicians always talk about the lunatics with their fingers on "the button"? I had my own button, and the best thing was it didn't even need to be pushed! To my satisfaction, it was always on, always pressed, and I assumed that was what gave me my edge. Yeah, I was tripping all over myself, marvelling at my victory. Then, Murphy's Law kicked in-the essence of chaos-and I looked up to see Veronica nervously holding a gun in my face. In my surprise, I thought she was a cunning little bitch. I welcomed the challenge though. If she realized the err of her ways, and wanted to be part of my famous petition after all, I was ecstatic to have her. I thought she was so cute. She didn't even realize I wasn't holding the bomb! I was colored impressed by the way she had turned my fun around on me. I could say I didn't try to win her back, that I wasn't weak at the sight of my protégé with her grand IQ, but you know what happened after that. It was a fucking catastrophe! What good is a grand social commentary like the one I had planned if there aren't any casualties to show for it! All that time and effort wasted. I put the bomb together, set up in the gym, then set up in the boiler room, and for freeing her and the rest of the school of their true enemies, she repays me the same way she did Heather Chandler. She completely screwed me-fucked me up pretty bad. In the end, the best way to make an exit is to create one, and that's what I did the only way I know how-the extreme way. I know that made an impression. How could I resist the temptation to go out with a bang. Yes, regrettably, Elvis has left the building. You don't think that means he's dead though...do you? You know what I love about this country? You give 'em lots of smoke, some pyrotechnics, and they automatically assume you're dead, even if there aren't any remains! I admit, I might be a bit disturbed, a little far-gone, maybe even borderline psychotic, but what is that, anyway? What's a more poetic salute to the ultimate definition of crazy? That I tried to blow up the school and everyone in it, or that some demented, anti-social freak probably took my finger home as a souvenier? I should've made out a will or some shit before I did all this. I, Jason Dean, of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath upon Veronica Sawyer my middle finger. If I had had the foresight, that might've been a good idea. I think Veronica would've been amused by it. Now we come back to our original question, full-circle to where we started. Why do we do it? Why did you do nothing to stop this breakdown from happening? I mean, we should put out a fire before it starts right? Like I said before, maybe we don't want to put out the fire. It's a tough call and you can cheat on this one, because the thing about playing with fire is you're bound to get burned. But there's one question you never think to ask. It's the one thing nobody thinks to check. Some people are just born burned. I was burnt long before I ever lit a match. There's a fire inside that nobody started...but that couldn't be my fault. It's not like people are evil by nature or on purpose. By: Mary C. Paul Copyright 2000. All Rights Reserved.