What happened?

I had this friend in elementary school, who I'll call Natalie (for anonymity). She was a really pretty, sweet girl that all the teachers absolutely adored. Stereotypical description? Yes, but she truly was like that. Very nice, and always cheerful.

In 3rd grade our school split into two feeders, so I didn't see her until this year in 11th grade. At first I didn't recognize her, because she had changed so much. But gradually, as she began talking about her boyfriend, we realized that we had been friends eight years ago.

She'd changed so much. About three days each week during lunch hour, she goes out of school to get stoned in her car. She's been to juvenile once, and her personality has completely changed. It's not like she grew up in some ghetto area of town - her parents, I remember, were upper middle class and I remembered them to be rather nice as well.

I'm not saying that Natalie, in any way, is a horrible person. She's still nice, though now she's extremely inclined to violence when she loses her temper. She's addicted to three kinds of drugs. This is not the kind of person I, or any of our elementary teachers, would have imagined for her. If anything, I should have been the child that grew up a stoner. I had so many behavioral problems, never listened, and was so socially inept that my first-grade teacher suggested my mom to put me in this sort of special education course at school for problematic children. My mother never did.

I turned out to be okay. I'm not a perfect student, but I actually pay attention in class, I have a lot of friends, and I'm generally regarded as some goody-two-shoes, which Natalie was before.

I'm just wondering - what happened?

Not that it's one specific event, but how did our supposed roles switch like this? In some ways, Natalie has already made it difficult for herself to succeed in later life, what with the marks on her records and her barely-passing grades. It sometimes makes me sad when I think of her (and then I feel bad for feeling sad >.>) and just how things have changed over eight years. Is it that somehow, society has failed on her? Could there have been a moment where there should have been help, but it never came?

It makes me frustrated because of this. I know I'm probably superextending the issue, but because of Natalie, I've tried to be there when my friends look upset, instead of edging away and letting them work through their own problems. I don't want the cumulative effect of not being there to eventually negatively affect the ones I love.

It's almost sad.

This is a conversation I had with a classmate that began over the answers on her test. I've kept the basic subject matter and words exchanged, but naturally, my ego and her astounding stupidity made me emphasize the difference between our brain functioning.

But she did talk like a valley girl, so much so that I was seriously concerned over whether she was doing it on purpose.

Me: Good job! You got a 90.
Her: *looks at her paper* Wait....but I got this question right.
Me: No, the answer was "Christianity and Islam."
Her: Okay, I'll admit that "Catholicism" wasn't right then...because Christianity and Catholicism are two different religions...but like, Islam and Muslim is the same thing.
Me: *falter* Er. Firstly, Catholicism is a part of Christianity - they're not separate entities, and besides, the correct sect would have been Protestantism. Secondly, Islam is a religion, and Muslim is a person that believes in Islam.
Her: *skeptical* Ummm....what are you saying? I'm Catholic. I know that they're two separate en - enet - tits - thingies.
Me: I'm an atheist, so I don't go to church and all that, but at least I know that they're not separate.
Her: Er, you kind of admitted that you know nothing about religion, so why do you think you're right?

My atheist classmates start listening to me here, a little shocked to be hearing this.

Me:.....being an atheist means that I don't believe in a God or affiliate with a religion, but it doesn't mean I don't know anything about the Bible or religious history. The basic facts are that Christianity existed for a very long time before Martin Luther came along sometime before the Renaissance, objected against the Church, and "protested" against paying for indulgences and whatnot. The Church was pissed and the two groups separated into Catholicism and Protestantism.
Her: Um, is this some kind of joke?
Me: I - I'm sorry, what?
Her: Martin Luther lived in the 1900's. That's after the Renaissance, right? And he did civil rights and stuff, not religion.
Me: (At this point, I'm struggling not to stab myself with the pen I'm holding.) No, that's a different Martin Luther. But the point is that Catholicism and Protestantism are under the umbrella of Christianity, like rabbits and dogs are under the umbrella of mammals.
Her: Okay, whatever. Stop making stuff up. It's so obvious that you're wrong.
Me: No, you can go look it up.
Her: And prove you wrong. Do you have something against me or what that I'm Christian?
Me: *can't wait to move away from Texas* No, no way. One of my best friends is devoutly Protestant, and the other is super Catholic. (And my third best friend is hardcore atheist.)
Her: Sure they are. But anyway, I don't see how Islam and Muslim matter.
Me: The question asked to which religions did the Parthenon serve through history. Muslim can't be an answer because it's the people, and everybody should know this since the terms have become more commonplace after 9/11. That's why you can't get credit for it...since it's kind of common sense.
Her: Oh my God, this is so unfair. I'm taking this to the teacher. Stupid atheists.

-Our teacher is Catholic, and has mentioned so a couple of times.-

The Teacher: Sorry, I can't give you points back. This stuff should be obvious.
Her: *pouts*
The atheists in the room: *triumphant*
People who hate her in the room, ergo, everybody: PWNED.

"I want a boob job! Let's kill your mom!"

WTF HAVE WE COME TO?!

Holy Mother of Buddha*

*note: I have this tagged under "tragedy" for good reasons.

I was at the JROTC Cadet/NCO of the Month inspections, listening in as each cadet was being quizzed. One of the current event questions was, "Who is John McCain's vice presidential pick?" A good question, I thought, if an easy one. After all, these cadets nearly all were planning to go to the Army, so I assumed they would know some chain of command from Washington.

I also thought that given the crazy amount of press she's been given in the past few weeks, people might just know the answer to this innocent little question. You know, just maybe. I could definitely forgive them if they were asked who Sarah Palin was three months ago, and they didn't know the answer. But....she's not some hodunk conservative politician from way over in empty Alaska anymore. She's the Republican veep pick.

The answers we received:

1. Condoleeza Rice?
2. ...I have no idea.
3. Oh man, I forgot her name, but I absolutely know it begins with an M!
4. Joseph Biden.

I mustered up a weak laugh before crawling into a hole underneath the carpet.

HER NAME IS SARAH PALIN. YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIKE HER (I'm not particularly fond of her). BUT YOU SHOULD AT LEAST KNOW WHO THE FUGGERATION SHE IS.

Of two tragic characters

You know, the tragic romance plays that women cry over with their boyfriends, who pretend to look bored while they're actually struggling to rein back a tear or two.

We have here character K, a boy. And we have character S, a girl. They might have had a relationship between them once, they might have not. But now K is disinterested, perhaps even a little hateful, and S is still in love with K.

K spurns her and pushes her away, ignoring her advances. S is upset, but still can't help the bright flare in her stomach whenever she sees him. In his presence, she is very aware of all her movements, and her words become lilting and measured. Beside him she wavers on a trembling tightrope, wondering what she looks like in his eyes. K does not pay any attention to her, and instead throws a rude comment.

But the examination here is not in the events, it is in those little flares, in the length of the tightrope.

S wants him to love her back. His words cut, cold as ice, and though she knows she should be hurt, she isn't. She can remember the grey-green of his eyes, the white directness of his words. They were for her. And it is this sole object, this sole idea that outweighs the meaning of those words, and they are gone from her mind, because he had turned to her. He had looked at her eyes, and parted his lips to speak.

It is hopeless love, of the maudlin "Where art thou?" type. And yet we follow along, feel the gasps in our mind as their tragedy continues.

But sometimes, K and S are not scripted characters on paper. Sometimes, they are real. Sometimes, they can be touched, and seen, and kissed.