Being Perfect

Perfection; adj. Excellence, faultlessness, flawlessness

Do you remember that dusty summer

We were only nine or ten

Can you be bothered to think far back

Do you want to go there again?

We were young and innocent then

and now the world wears

heavy on shoulders

not that anyone cares.

Do you recall those days we had

When the world was a photo

and we held the camera.

A life preserved in an instant

Joy alive 'til the end of time

a moment of true love and friendship

In the everlasting sunshine.

Do you still feel

those oaths we swore

to stay friends forever

throughout love and war?

And now like childhood lost

Are gone all the joys

a simple game could provide.

Time has carried away

the love that we knew

the bond between us has broken

but I will never forget you.

* * *

Part One: Melanie

'Perfect.'

I pulled my eyes away from my reflection to glance at Kitty.
'Huh, makes a change. How do you have time to apply that much
foundation?'

'It's just a talent of mine. Speed makeup. It's the new Olympic Sport.'
Kitty's face split open into a wide grin. 'Look, if you spent half as
much time as I do?'

I grimaced at the suggestion. 'I have more important things on my
mind.'

'Yeah, like what? Oh wait, let me guess. Umm?Luke?'

I sighed quietly. 'I really don't have a chance, do I? I mean, he's
obsessed with Katie, after all.'

'Oh please. Katie? You've got to be kidding me. Does the boy have any
taste?' Kitty sneered at the mere mention of the name. Kitty and Katie
had long been rivals, ever since year 7 when they'd first met. Kitty
was jealous because Katie was better friends with Sarah, but had
wreaked her revenge by going out with Katie's long-term crush. Of
course, this had done nothing to improve matters, and friction had
existed within the group ever since. Sarah was blissfully unaware of
this, and continued to invite them both round to her house at the same
time.
Suddenly, the door behind us slammed shut, disrupting our gossip.

'Looks like she's gone'

'Thank god! I thought she'd never leave. What does she do in
there?'

'Well, don't say I told you this, but,' Kitty bent her head towards
mine, 'there's a rumour going round that she's some psycho. That's why
she's always going to the nurse, she's on, like, Prozac or
something!'

'Oh my god!! You're joking.' I felt my eyes widen in horrified
fascination.

'Nuh-uh. It's true. Sarah said so.' Kitty nodded her head emphatically
as she whispered this, as if Sarah was the greatest possible news
source in the world.

* * *

Sarah was lying on her back, her shirt undone to expose her stomach and
chest to the sun's rays. Katie was sprawled across her history
textbook, while Clare was chanting Latin nouns at Kitty. I was sitting
a short distance away from the group, attempting to concentrate on
Physics equations.

'?Puellae, puellae, puellas, puellarum, puellis, puelli-'

'No no no, longer 'a' on 'puella'. It's puellaaaar. Like with an 'r' on
the end.'
Katie's feigned knowledge infuriated Kitty, who gave a melodramatic
sigh and came to join me on the outskirts of the gathering.

'So 1945 was the Yalta conference. Then Potsdam. In 1947 the Truman
Doctrine was set up to?to?why don't I know this by now! I'm going to
fail I'm going to fail and my parents are going to kill me-'

'K E equals half m v squared. Fine. But what the hell is m? How am I
supposed to find KE if I don't know m!? Katie, you do triple don't you?
I know this equation but I have no idea what it means! Why do they have
to use so many letters, it's so pointless!! How am I ever supposed to
learn this?!'

'Frankly, Mel, I don't give a damn.' Sarah raised her cats-eye
sunglasses and gave a quick, bright, half-smile. For an instant it
looked as thought she would make some further witticism, but she soon
settled back into her furrow in the grass; her hair splayed out beneath
her, the burnished gold contrasting strangely with the dark velvet of
the grass. I watched jealously. Previous attempts with Sun-In had
proved disastrous, and so I had to settle with a mousy brown. 'Shit
colour,' as Hannah had so kindly remarked.
There was also, of course, her tan. She seemed to glow all year round,
and yet she never went orange. She was a perfect bronze - but then that
was Sarah for you. Everything she did was perfect; every outfit she
wore was next year's fashion. She did everything right. She was always
the one who got chosen first, she won all the trophies and she had all
the friends. I was her best friend when we were younger. She spent
summer of '96 round at my house, planning a business to grow and sell
the neighbour's fruit. They'd gone away for a month, leaving me to look
after their house, but Sarah and I soon discovered that selling their
raspberries and strawberries was much more profitable than the mere ?20
I was given for four weeks of hard labour. Of course, when the family
returned and found that all their carefully tended fruit had vanished,
we were the prime suspects, but somehow Sarah managed to talk her way
out of trouble.

My physics was disturbed by the approaching shadow of our head of year
- Mrs Phillips. A formidable woman, her hair was short and partially
dyed black in a vain attempt to disguise the ever-increasing amount of
grey. No matter what the weather, she was always dressed in a sensible
knee length skirt, a sensible pair of black shoes with a sensible white
blouse and cardigan, decorated with a ridiculous multi-coloured brooch.
Mrs Phillips had only one aim in life - to annoy and patronise the
students as much as was possible in her remaining two years before
retirement. She had a huge success rate in this task, and every year
she seemed to become more proficient as she was constantly upgrading
her methods. This term she was attempting rambling and nonsensical
rules. I think it was one of her most successful tactics.

My frantic coughing alerted the rest of the group to her presence;
Sarah made some gesture of respect by pulling her shirt around her slim
waist and rolling over onto her front, pretending to revise.
'Girls? What are you doing out here. You know you're supposed to be in
room 18.'

'Revising. Are we allowed to revise?'

'You are supposed to be in room 18.'

There was silence for a few seconds as we searched for a response, but
Clare was the first to tentatively raise her hand.
'Umm?Mrs Phillips?why? I mean we're revising out here and we're not
making any noise.'

'The year elevens need this lawn. They have GCSEs, and there are more
of them. They need to be given space to work in.'

We silently surveyed the empty lawn.

'Mrs Phillips, there aren't any year elevens. And their exams haven't
started yet,' I said, innocently.

'Yes, but what if there was a fire? We wouldn't know where you
were.'

Sarah smiled knowingly. 'Yes you would. We'd be here. And in a fire we
all come here anyway, so really we're anticipating events.'

Mrs Phillips merely glared. Her logic was not to be argued with.
'Detention.'

* * *

Part Two: Sarah

'Oh?FUCK!' Hannah slammed her locker door shut. 'Bloody fucking shitty
hell!'

I glanced wryly at her. 'Yeah, what's happened now? Your mascara
smudged?'

'Ha. Ha. Very funny. No, my frickin phone's gone missing?my dad's going
to fucking KILL me! It's brand new!'

'Chill, Hannah. It's probably in your bag or something.'

'Yeah, whatever. I hate the way things just keep going missing round
here! It's so bloody annoying!!'

I raised my eyes upwards and let out a dramatic sigh. 'Oh, poor dear,
observe my copious amounts of sympathy for your plight. You're as bad
as Katie?honestly. And people expect me to work in these cond-' my
complaint was cut short by the cloakroom door slamming into my
head.

'Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean, I mean?' Emily's fumbled attempt
at an apology trailed off as she crouched down by my side. As she did
so her one-strap rucksack slipped off her right shoulder and slithered
down to her waist. Whilst trying to disentangle herself from the bag
she dropped her file, its contents spilling across the floor. She
lunged after it, but succeeded only in tripping over her bag, which had
now reached her knees. She scrambled upright and smoothed her skirt,
utterly humiliated. I pretended not to notice, and touched my head
gingerly, ignoring Hannah's sman. Waving Emily away, I unfolded
myself to a standing position. She scrabbled after her file and bag,
while Hannah continued to pour the contents of her locker onto the
grubby yellow linoleum. I reached into my bag for some painkillers, and
then began to help Emily with her work, much of which was still strewn
across the floor. Eventually we managed to collect the many pieces of
file paper, and Emily left, stuttering her apologies. I pushed her out
into the corridor, still stammering, and snapped the cloakroom door
shut.

'Why do you bother with her? She's so?urrrrgh. I mean, first of all
there's the hair - don't even get me started on the hair - and then of
course the fashion sense. Not that you can call it fashion, not unless
we're in the seventies and white cotton smocks have suddenly become
sexy. She's so clueless; how can anyone be that pathetic? Does she not
see how sad she is?' Hannah's dark eyes flared at me, daring me to
disagree.

Aware that a suitable response was required of me, I nodded in
agreement. Hannah turned away, not knowing or caring what I said.
Instead she returned to cursing her locker contents, which had
magically emptied themselves onto the floor. My mind wandered towards
my overdue maths coursework, and I barely noticed when Hannah
eventually became bored of swearing at the lockers and at her bag and
at me, and left to get the train. I sat back on the bench by myself, my
head still tingling slightly. How did I let this happen? Dad was right,
I was such an idiot, and I mean I was sitting in front of the goddamn
door! And now Emily was humiliated yet again and Hannah was just making
things worse but I couldn't - wouldn't - do anything to stop her
because I was too scared of being rejected. It was because of people
like me that there were all these stupid wars going on, I was so
selfish and arrogant what more did I deserve than what was happening
then? I deserved what I felt, I deserved what I did and I deserved what
everyone else was doing. I just felt so frustrated, there was only one
thing that I could have done. So I did it, and I can't remember it, but
you can see the proof that it happened.

* * *

Part Three: Emily

I don't know how this whole thing began. I'd always had all this
self-confidence, and suddenly it disappeared. I don't know how or why
or who or when, but I was left feeling?hollow. There was this space
inside of me that nothing on earth could fill - nothing except it. I
can't say it, not even now; it's too horrible to-

I stood up in front of the mirror and threw on my blazer, despite the
suffocating summer heat. I knew I'd get heat rash within an hour but I
didn't really care. I tried to drag a brush through my dull brown hair
and put it into a ponytail like Sarah's. It didn't work, as usual, and
I was left with an ugly mass sitting on top of my head. Imagine a giant
toupee styled by a Yeti wearing oven gloves. That's my hair on a good
day. I always try again, and this time was no different, but once again
it looked like a dead wombat had gone to sleep on my head. It was off
centre as well. Again and again I tried to be that girl, but eventually
I abandoned hope. I guess I've only had one day when I've looked
decent, and even that was when I was a week old and didn't even have
any hair or acne or anything.

I headed for the front door, as there was no time for breakfast; my bus
was already waiting outside. I dragged Sophie out with me and shouted a
quick goodbye to my mother who, as usual, did not reply. Looking round
into the kitchen, I saw her mesmerised in front of an early morning TV
programme.
'?Just call 09001 657 047 to WIN this fabulous set of goodies! But
remember to always ask the permission of the person that pays the bill.
Here's that question again?'

The door slammed shut.

* * *

Part Four: Melanie

When I entered, Sarah, Clare and the rest were already sitting around
in a circle. The rest of the class were clustered around them - I
suppose they thought that 'cool' was catching. Emily was on the very
fringes of the group, her faded blazer standing out amongst the various
hoodies worn by the rest of us. Destiny's Child blared out the stereo
and I automatically recited the words to it under my breath (How is it
that I know every word and trill of Apple Pie ? la mode, yet can't
learn the tests for ions?). After her third attempt at the harmonies,
Hannah dejectedly sank into a sulk. I dug into my bag for a compact,
only to find it had shattered into a thousand pieces beneath the
combined pressure of my history file and makeup bag. Aggravated and
tired I stormed off into the cloakroom and wrestled my way into a place
in front of the mirror.

Foundation was applied, quickly followed by mascara, but half way
through my daily helping of eyeliner Emily rushed in, her eyes full of
tears. The heavy door banged behind her, but I could still hear the
thumping bass line of Destiny's Child through the wall, mingling with
assorted shouts and laughs from our classroom. No one seemed to notice
that Emily had gone, and I wasn't about to worsen my already foul mood
by being seen talking to her. Instead I walked haughtily past her and
headed once again for the classroom, where I was welcomed by Sarah's
embrace and a Look from Hannah.

I don't know when I noticed it at first. I suppose it was just a
gradual thing. She was always injuring her arm in one sport or another.
We got used to it after a while, she'd always joke about how
accident-prone she was. She never told us that she'd slipped and fallen
on a knife, which just happened to be in her hand. We never knew
anything?we that were once so close. I never suspected it - not until
it happened. I guess I was an idiot not to have known, but then again
not even her mother knew what was happening to her inside. It was just
so unexpected. She was everyone's role model, she was pretty and
intelligent and popular and sporty - everything I'm not, never was and
never will be.

Her brother found her. She'd behaved perfectly normally at school that
day. I'd refused to lend her my new Incubus CD. She'd never returned my
Blink one, despite what she said, so I just told her I didn't trust
her.
I found my Blink CD under my bed three weeks later, whilst Mother was
in cleaning mode.

That night she'd gone down to the annex to work in the quiet, and her
brother was sent to get her; dinner was ready. I don't know what
happened next, and I don't want to. If I close my eyes I can see her
there, there in her favourite jumper and her new jeans. We'd gone
shopping a couple of weeks ago and she'd fallen in love with them
immediately. I never guessed they'd be the trousers she would?

I wish it could have been peaceful. I wish that she could have died
quietly, without pain or anger. But I know it wasn't like that. The
doctor said she choked on vomit long before she would have - have bled
to death. I can see her stumbling around looking for a knife, all the
while drinking her way through Father's wine collection. I just keep
thinking?what if I had called her? What if I had been able to speak to
her? What would have happened if I hadn't been so full of
self-importance as to ignore every signal she sent that something was
wrong? Maybe instead of dying alone in her own sick she would still be
here, and we would still be going to Mike's party next Saturday.
Instead I'm going to her funeral.

Her mother gave me the letter to read. I thought it might help, to see
what she had been thinking about. Maybe I thought it would bring me
closer to her.

>>Dear all
I don't know how to start this. I've never had to know before, and it's
not exactly what they teach you in English lessons. I guess I should
start with an apology. I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to ask for
help, and I'm sorry I was too proud to even admit I needed it. I always
wanted to be independent and cope with my problems by myself, but I
never realised how much it would affect the people who surrounded me. I
am sure you didn't realise this was happening. I'm not surprised -I
found it difficult to confess it, even to myself. But eventually I had
too many scars to deny what was happening inside.

I suppose you want reasons. I'm no psychologist, I don't know if I'm
histrionic or borderline or narcissistic and I don't know if I'm just
wanting attention. But I was always so alone, even in the middle of a
crowd you didn't hear what I said. I don't blame you - that's society -
but I can't cope without someone to talk to. I have tried everything,
Internet support groups, The Samaritans; I have joined just about
society that it is possible to join. Nothing works for me. I know I
should have come to you but I was too scared of what would happen and
of how you would react. I know how you behave towards Emily, and I
don't want to become the person that everyone ignores and whispers
about. In retrospect I suppose telling someone would be the best thing
to do?but I can't. I'm too scared of the consequences.

I'm sorry.
Sarah.

* * *

Part Five: Emily

I don't know what to say. Everyone's shocked. My mum heard about the
note. She wants me to get more help. Yet more looking at ink blots and
throwing things to get rid of my frustration.
Everyone figures I could take strength?but I feel so guilty, I should
have seen her and spoken to her. Maybe that's the price you pay for
popularity - but who am I to judge her death? 'Judge not, lest ye be
judged' after all. It's weird, not having her around. Like there's
something missing in my world, and I keep forgetting what it is. Then
suddenly you turn around and say 'oh yeah.' And then get on with your
life.

She never even noticed me anyway, only when she died. But I'm not going
where she's gone now. I don't want to have teachers crying at my
funeral and I don't want my teenage friends to bring white lilies and
to lay on my grave. So I guess that she died to save my life - but I
can't help thinking it should have been the other way around.

* * *

Part Six

Melanie ascended the stairs, trailing her hand over the polished
banister as if it were only so much oak, instead of it serving as such
a powerful reminder of what had gone before. She remembered coming up
here last week, walking slowly and calmly up the stairs like she did
every other Saturday afternoon. She remembered the numbness that
enveloped her, stifling the creaks and groans that came from the dusty
walls at intermittent intervals. She remembered that blank face, pasted
in makeup, and the smart trousers and jacket that disguised her arms. A
tear fell silently to the floor, and Mel realised that Sarah could
never cry again. She would never sit in history and laugh at her
caricatures of Ms Ellingham. She couldn't sit in Mel's bedroom and read
Cosmo and dream of being in Jon's arms.

Mel had stopped without realising, and now turned to face back down the
staircase. As she strode purposefully across the empty hall her
footsteps echoed round, beating back the stillness that seemed to
overpower the stifling house. She pulled back the kitchen door and
reached forwards.

She sat retching violently into the toilet bowl. Sarah's face seemed to
swim in front of her, taunting her and mocking her weakness, when Sarah
had been so strong. Her arm burned agonisingly, but at least the cuts
had closed now. Some part of her stood back and watched her, with her
scarlet arms and her face that was sweating with exertion. In disbelief
she saw herself sit up and rest from the circle of cutting and
vomiting. But then she saw Sarah's body being lowered into the ground,
and she thought of it decaying and dying until all that would be left
was a blank stone with some faint engravings. She thought of school
without her, and of the parties that she would miss. Sarah's voice
echoed back and forth in her mind, sometimes laughing, sometimes
crying. She remembered the German exchange and how they had sprayed
their teacher's hair bright green. She thought about that time in year
six when they'd spent all Saturday rewriting Disney songs for their
pantomime. With a pang of guilt she realised everything she knew of
Sarah was at least three years old. She had been too busy with her own
life to see the changes in them both that had drawn them slowly apart.
She had not noticed Sarah's descent into depression and she knew that
this was something that could never be repaired. Sarah's wit and beauty
had died and she now had only the dank, clogging earth to comfort
her.

Melanie turned back to the toilet, and the cycle claimed another
victim.

* * *

Epilogue

Mel looked nervously around the room, taking in the brown, neatly
stacked chairs in the left-hand corner. Grey light shone in through the
window, illuminating a small posy of dried flowers that were due to be
replaced three months previously. Their brittle stems drooped over the
edge of the wicker basket and the floor beneath was littered with
dropped seeds. She brushed them under the radiator, covering her smart
black shoes with dust.

Suddenly her phone vibrated, disturbing the deathly silence of the
room. 1 message received - 'Good luck'. Mel gave a quick, bright
half-smile and dropped it back into her bag. Slowly people filed into
the room; she made eye contact with a few of them. One girl looked
barely 19. Her fragility was accented, however, by the heavy-set man in
his fifties that sat next to her.

At 8:30 she shut the door quietly, before turning to face the group of
15 people that sat there, waiting for her to break the tension that
every member felt.
Mel took a deep breath and turned to face them. 'Welcome to the
Samaritans'.