Don't Forget To Shed a Tear While You're On Stage So You Can Laugh Behind the Airways | Teen Ink

Don't Forget To Shed a Tear While You're On Stage So You Can Laugh Behind the Airways

March 12, 2010
By LexieMonster SILVER, Spring, Texas
LexieMonster SILVER, Spring, Texas
9 articles 0 photos 9 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Life is a learning experience. Push yourself and you will grow." -Rami

How many people shed crocodile tears for the kid no one cared enough to save onlt to turn around and forget about him all over again? Now we're standing here laughing, smiling, kissing, dating, and letting the same damn thing happen all over again. Are we really heartless enough to let someone die alone then disgrace them by telling the world that they were our bestfriend, our secret love, our everything? This memorial service is nothing byt a lie; this is the reflection of who we are and who we will never be. As I stand here looking upon this sea of faces, I see laughter being with-held and secrets longing to leave your lips. These tears, they are shed for a show he never asked us to put on; they are nothing more than an act carried out so we can look in the mirror and deny the flaws which are so obviously there. If we were to open the spiral of his life, what amazing things would be written there? How many things did he scream out while we made ourselves to deaf to listen?
We gratify ourselves by clinging to the fact that we never insulted him; we never spread rumors about him throughout ever hallway of this school, for if we did that the out come would have been..the same, only quicker. However, it is possible that he so desperately needed to be noticed that even the tortureous hate of self-righteous teenagers would comfort him in the fact that someone knew his name, but what's done is done; right? There is no use in learning anything from the deag of someone we secretly hold only apathetic feelings twoard; why do something to show some other useless throw away that they matter? No, it is not possible that we, that you, are to blame for this young man, this son, this child's death. It must have been problems at home or some deep-rooted memory that had been overtaking him for years! Well, there is a memory now; now that he doesn't have to remember the words no one ever said to him, there is a legacy left. A legacy which no one truly knows.
This ceremony is not in honor of his memory, but rather in mockory of it, for none of these proceedings are for him; they are a tradgedy being preformed for the world around us so that outsiders might look in and convict the victim rather than the criminals who are you and I. Even now as we hold back smiles and mask the thoughts that we are truly thinking, there are people forgetting their own names so that they can be engraved, but what do we care? They are just completing another preformance for us to cast ourselves in, so we will continue in our daily routine of not noticing in order to allow them to decide between the trigger and the pills. We have already set the price for our self-righteouness, so a few lives ended in honor of decieving the world for our glory is beyond worth it. After all it was their choice and we never said a word to encourage the act, so therefore the corpse and the criminal are one in the same. Their death just happens to be convienent in our apathetic lives of conciete.
The silence we provided him with encouraged him to choose the path he did when making his final decision. We never stopped to notice the blood so obviously soaking his sleeves, and we will never care enough about anyone else to feel anything for the people who walk by every day, un-noticed, unspoken to, alone. Yet no loss is our fault; it is the fault of circumstance, of mental disorder, of weakness, but we did nothing to cause this. Our lack of prevention could never be a cause, could it? No it couldn't be! For silence can not speak; however, it can imply. He was just another face, another student, another peer, another nameless face.
Nameless isn't so bad now is it? Nameless is better than hated, right? This could not be our fault, but nameless and useless go hand-in-hand. How could anyone point the finger in our direction? Don't they see this service; don't they see these flowers, these tears..these hidden smiles? We cover our hearts in bandainds so that anyone passing by will make the assumption that scars lay underneath, pat us on the back, and move on. Our acting should be commended for so many have be(lie)ved the lie we have sewn into our lives. However, this is only the first secene; tomorrow this room will be just as aware of his nameless face as it was before. No one will utter a word about him, no one will spare a thought for him, no one will acknowledge that he was ever even here; but still, we all love him more than words can describe. R.I.P. will he be missed? Our mouths let out a booming "yes" while our hearts seretly wonder who cares. Our respone was not a lie; someone must miss him! Would he have left if someone cared?
His actions were his own; he never even knew us! Therefore, none of us are to blame, but all of us miss him so terribly. If only he had said something, then he would still be here; but who would he have told? Who would have listened; who would have cared? There was surely someone he could have trusted; someone must have cared! Well, that someone is just as nameless as he is. However, he was everything to each of us; his loss is unconsolable. We never said anything against him; he was never the victim of our rutheless rumors; we were not his enemies! Silence, was his enemy, and we were the silence. No! This could never be traced back to us, never. These tears are sincere and this loss pains us greatly; why then are giggles creeping from our hearts as we place flowers here in loving memory of his life?
We love him; we miss him; we need him. Tell me then what would he want us to do now? What would he want us to change? Alas, his only companion is the only answer. Silence, only silence, knows anything about this boy as his body decomposes beneath ten feet of dirt in a location unknown to any of us, for who of us cares to know? His story may as wel be unwritten, because it will always remain unread. Not one of us even knows the title of the book which is this nameless soul's life. Who here remembers his smile, his frown, his rears? This memorial service is the first memory any of us posses containing him. His passions are unknown, yet we love him and mourn his loss. This is not a show; we always cared about his life, but each question regarding him is answered by his bestfriend, his death, silence. If only he had a friend..but this is not our fault.
The truth, where is that? It is right here! Can't the world see our heart break? Can't they see our loss? Can't they see our ignorance of the nameless body we are remembering? Hind-sight is twenty-twenty, but our vision is distorted. No, it couldn't be; we are perfect. Look at how we mourn the dead, but how do we love the living? Why ask that? This death has nothing to do with the apathy we work so hard to hide or the value we set on our self-righteousness which does not frown upon a few lost voices, thoughts, lives. It is so much easier to play the part in his death rather than maintain his life, but we would never pretend to feel pain; we loved him! We were always there for him; it is not our fault that he saw our silent rejection. Nothing could have saved him if our love shown through acts of ignoring his very existance in this world, through increasing his pain by silence, could not; but this is not our fault. Our apathetic ignorance twoard him had nothing to do with his self-inflicted end! We did all we could given the circumstances we laid out for ourselves which just happened to be an inconvienece of his life.
The laughter we hold back and the whispers we so cunningly cover up is testimony to who we are, who we will never be. What an example we have made, but why place any true meaning behind it? While our lives do not change, another tradgedy will be written; but what does that matter? We won't be the cause, for we will not have said or done anything, yet we will love that nameless soul just as we love him. The hour of the service will be filled with forced tears, while the exiting of it will forget the suicide we claim to give a s*** about. Still, though, we are not to blame; we are not liars; we are not self-righteous. We love him; we always have, so fake your tears and forget his life at your convienence.

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