Me and Earl and the Dying Girl

by Jesse Andrews

  Eventually, Rachel said, “How’s your latest film coming?”

  “Oh, the latest one! Yeah. It’s pretty good.”

  “I’m really excited to see it.”

  Something about the way she said this made me realize that she knew about it. I mean, it was stupid to think she wouldn’t find out.

  “Yeah, uh . . . Hey. You should probably know: It’s for you. Like, it’s sort of about you, and uh, yeah.”

  “I know.”

  I was trying to be cool about this.

  “Oh, you knew that already?”

  “Yeah, some people told me.”

  “Oh, like who?” I was talking kind of loud and high-pitched. I actually sounded a little like Denise Kushner at that moment.

  “I don’t know. Madison told me about it. Mom sort of mentioned it. Anna, Naomi. Earl. A few people.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Uh. That reminds me. I have to go talk to Earl about something.”

  “OK,” she said.

  Earl and I had never been in a fight. That was mostly because I am cowardly, and also partially because we had a pretty good working relationship with well-defined roles. The point is, I had never really gotten angry at him, and also I am terrified of conflict. Especially with Earl, because of the windmill kick to the head that he can do.

  But I was pissed that he had told Rachel. So I went over to his house to yell at him.

  Even just writing about this is giving me sharp stabbing armpit pains.

  The whole time on the walk over I was kind of muttering to myself. Specifically, I was rehearsing the stuff that I was going to say.

  “Earl,” I muttered to myself, “the foundation of any good working relationship is trust. And I can no longer trust you in any way. By telling Rachel about this film, which was supposed to be a surprise, you have betrayed my trust.”

  I was lurching through the streets of Earl’s not-so-great part of Homewood, moving my lips, making semi-coherent noises, walking faster than is graceful for an overweight person to walk, and emitting maybe a quart of human sweat.

  “I don’t know if I can work with you again. You will have to earn my trust back if you want to work with me. I don’t even know how you would go about doing that.”

  I was on his block, and the sight of his ramshackle weird house jacked up my heart rate even worse than it had already been jacked up.

  “You’re going to need to convince me that I can trust you.” That was another inane thing that I said.

  I walked up the walk where I had broken my arm, and stood there, no longer muttering. Somehow I was terrified to ring the bell. Instead, I sent a text.

  hey i’m in front of your house

  But before Earl came out, Maxwell wandered out onto the porch.

  “Fuck you want,” he said, although sort of casually and unthreateningly.

  “I’m just waiting for Earl,” I said, in my new loud middle-aged-Jewish-woman voice.

  Earl appeared in the doorway.

  “Sup,” he said.

  “Hey,” I said.

  We were sort of silent.

  “You gonna come in?”

  “No, I’m good,” I heard myself say. I had rejected a normal invitation to go into his house. This made it clear that we were about to have an argument.

  “O-ho,” crowed Maxwell.

  Earl went from Mega-Pissed to Genuinely Mega-Pissed and Not Just in Default Mode.

  “The fuck’s your problem,” he spat.

  “Uh, I was talking to Rachel, and she told me you told her about the, uh, the film.”

  All Earl said to that was “Yeah.” Maybe he was just pretending that he didn’t know this was a big deal. Maybe he was so pissed that he wasn’t even registering it.

  “It’s just,” I said, babbling, “you know, I mean, you told Rachel about the films in the first place, and then you brought them over to her, without asking me, and it’s just like, you’ll tell her anything, like, it doesn’t even matter what I want, I’m not saying she shouldn’t, she shouldn’t know, or get to see them, I’m just saying, I wish you had asked me, first, I wish—”

  “You know what? Just shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.”

  “I just—”

  “I’m tired of this shit. I’m really fucking tired of it. You gotta quit with this shit, man. Because I’m about to lose my motherfucking shit with this.”

  Briefly I contemplated lecturing Earl about trust. I decided pretty quickly, however, that that was not going to work, and might also bring about the apocalypse. Also, it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to say words. Instead, I stood there and—there’s no good way to put this—attempted not to cry.

  “Naw, shut the fuck up. You care so fucking much bout what other people think, you gotta be secretive as shit, gotta go round sucking errybody’s dick pretendin like you they friend cuz you care so much bout what they think, lemme fucking tell you: Nobody gives a shit about you. Nobody think shit about you. You ain’t got no friends. You ain’t got nobody who give a fucking shit about you.”

  “Oka , kay.”

  “Fuckin nobody. Errybody at school could give a shit about you, man. Errybody you all friendly with and shit could give a shit. You all worried bout what they think about you, man, they don’t give a fuck. They don’t give a fuck if you live or die, you pussy-ass bitch. They don’t give a fuck. Look at me. They don’t. Give. A fuck.”

  “Oka ay. J Jesu , us.”

  “Man, just shut the fuck up, because I can’t be hearing no more of this. Yeah, I fucking told Rachel about the films, I fucking gave her some of them dumb-ass films to watch, because she like the only person that do give a fuck. Yeah. She don’t have big-ass titties, so you don’t fucking care, but that other bitch don’t give a shit about you and, and fucking Rachel do, and you don’t fucking give a shit cuz you’re a dumb little bitch.”

  “I d , d do.”

  “Stop your fucking crying, bitch-ass.”

  “O, Ok kay.”

  “Goddammit stop cryin.”

  “OK.”

  Did I mention Maxwell was there for this? He was enjoying it. I am pretty sure his presence was making Earl more crazy and aggressive than he would have been normally.

  “Now go on get the fuck outta here. I’m tired a lookin at your pussy ass. Crying and shit.”

  I didn’t say anything or move. This caused Earl to get up in my face.

  “God damn I’m sick and fucking tired a watchin you treat this girl like she some kind of, some kinda burden, when she the closest thing you fucking have to a motherfucking friend and she about to die on top of that. You know that, right? You dumb motherfucker. She home now cuz she about to die. That girl lyin there on her goddamn deathbed and you come to my house all whinin and cryin and shit about some irrelevant bullshit. I want . . . to kick your ass. You hear me? I want . . . to beat the fuck out of you right now.”

  “Go for it.”

  “You want me to?”

  “I don’t ca , care.”

  “Motherfucker, you want me to?”

  I was in the middle of sarcastically but also tearfully saying, “Yeah, Earl, I fucking want you to,” when he punched me in the stomach.

  So. There I was, for the second time in a month, lying in the Jackson front yard doubled over in pain, with a diminutive warlike kid standing over me. But this time at least it wasn’t a kid with a socially unacceptable word tattooed on his neck. He also wasn’t repeatedly slapping my face as I attempted to relearn how breathing works.

  Instead, he was muttering things like, “Man, get up,” and “I ain’t even hit you for real.”

  Maxwell chimed in a few times with “Yeah! Hit him again!” and “BUST HIS CANDY ASS.” But his heart wasn’t really in it. I think he was disappointed that our fight was so lame. In fairness to us, the notion that we would have an interesting fight is absurd. It was like expecting a good fight between a wolverine and, I dunno, an animal made out of marshmallows.

  Eventually, Maxwell wen
t inside and it was just the two of us out there, and if Earl was still angry, it didn’t seem to be at me.

  “Goddamn, you a pussy. Get hit once in the gut, act like you dyin. Goddamn.”

  “Unngh.”

  “There you go. Walk it off, son.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Come on, let’s go to your place. Get to work.”

  “Unnnh shit.”

  “That’s right. Come on. I’ll help you.”

  For Plan E we didn’t even use Dad’s camera. We used the low-quality camera on my laptop. We were inspired by YouTube. God help us.

  Like whiny boring people all over the world, we decided that the best way of expressing ourselves was just to stare into the camera and talk. No script, no camera movement, no special lighting. We decided to strip all the effects away and see what was left.

  Was this a terrible idea? Please stand by while I forward your question to the President of Yestonia.

  INT. GREG’S ROOM — DAY

  GREG

  So. Rachel.

  EARL

  Sup Rachel.

  GREG

  We’ve tried, uh, a bunch of different ways of making a film for you, and uh, none of them have really turned out the way we wanted.

  If you don’t script your dialogue, first of all, you’re going to pause and say “uh” at least a billion times. So for starters, you’re talking as though you’ve just suffered a semi-serious head injury.

  EARL

  We tried to do somethin with sock puppets, and it didn’t seem to be very relevant to your, uh, situation.

  GREG

  Uh, we had everyone at school say get-well wishes for the camera, but uh, you’ve already had a bunch of get-well cards, and we, uh, wanted to do something more uh personal than that.

  EARL

  We tried to do a documentary about you. Uhh

  GREG

  Uhhhhh

  EARL

  There was a shortage of material, to, uh, work with.

  GREG

  We tried this, uh, complicated stop-motion, uh, animation thing, to get you fired up about beating cancer, but, uh. It ended up just really goofy and, uh, not what we wanted.

  EARL

  So, now we’re, uh, trying this.

  BOTH

  [garbled]

  GREG

  You go.

  EARL

  Naw, you go.

  GREG

  Just go.

  EARL

  slowly, somehow painfully

  Uh . . . All right. Uh. You probably don’t understand how grateful I am to have gotten to know you. Because first of all, the odds of that happening, normally, would be very low, because, speaking perfectly honestly, we don’t travel in the same circles, you and me. So it feels like . . . a blessing, to have had you in my life these past few weeks.

  I admire a lot of things about you. I admire how smart you are, how perceptive, and observant. But, uh. What I’m just really in awe of, is your, uh, I don’t know how to put it. I guess, your patience. If it was me, I would be angry, and miserable, and, and hurtful, and just terrible to be around. And you’ve been so strong throughout, and so patient, even when things aren’t going right, and I’m in awe of that. And you’ve made me feel, uh, blessed.

  finishing, husky-voiced

  So, uh, yeah.

  How the fuck was I supposed to follow that.

  The basic problem was, Earl meant everything he said, and I couldn’t say the same stuff without lying. Because Earl is just a better person than me. I don’t want to sound like a melodramatic jackass, but that’s the truth. I was pretty sure I couldn’t say anything sensitive, and reassuring, and touching, without it being a lie.

  EARL (CONT’D)

  choked up and now sort of angry

  Your turn.

  Was Rachel inspiring to me? Did I really think she was smart, and perceptive, and patient, and everything else? No. I’m sorry. Look: I feel terrible. I wish that getting to know her had been this big inspiring life-improving thing. I really do. I know that’s what’s supposed to happen. But it didn’t.

  EARL (CONT’D)

  Dude. It’s your turn.

  So what was I supposed to say? The truth?

  EARL (CONT’D)

  punching Greg in the arm

  Your turn, jackass.

  GREG

  Right. Right right. Uh. The main reason we made this video is, uh. We want you to get better. And, uh. Look. The thing is: I know you can get better. I know you’re strong enough, and, uh. Yeah. I just wanted to tell you. Uh. I believe in you.

  talking maybe a little too much now

  And that’s, uh, I realize now, that’s why we wanted to make a film. To tell you that we believe in you.

  just really driving the lie home at this point

  And that’s why we, uh, made the film.

  I spent an entire weekend listening to myself say “we believe in you,” and wanting to punch myself in the face. Because it was such an obvious lie. If we really believed in Rachel, we wouldn’t be rushing to make this film before she died. Plus, I mean, why the hell would we believe in her? She didn’t even believe in herself. She told me point-blank she thought she was going to die. She was stopping treatment and going home and waiting for the inevitable. Who were we to argue with that?

  At the same time, there wasn’t really anything else to say.

  Mom walked into the computer room late Sunday night.

  “Honey.”

  “Oh, hey.”

  “Are you still working on the movie for Rachel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s it going.”

  “’Sgoing fine.”

  “Oh honey. Shhhhh.”

  “’Sfine.”

  “Shhhhhhhh.”

  “h hurnk.”

  “It’s hard to lose a friend.”

  “Tha , at’s, snot it.”

  “It’s hard, honey.”

  “That’s not , n not , , it.”

  “Shhhh.”

  Rachel the Film (dir. G. Gaines and E. Jackson, 2011). This film, a loose homage to leukemia victim Rachel Kushner, is perhaps most noteworthy for its confusing mishmash of styles, incorporating documentary footage, confessionals, stop-motion animation, and puppetry in what can only be thought of as a huge mess. In fact, directors Gaines and Jackson begin the film with a grainy, pixilated apology to Rachel herself, admitting that the film is badly organized and basically incoherent. After that comes a pastiche of awkward well-wishes from high school students and teachers, sock puppets hitting each other, LEGO characters with incomprehensible accents, poorly scanned photos of Kushner’s childhood, and other absurdist one-offs with extremely limited relevance to the subject matter. The weepy, melodramatic conclusion, again featuring the directors, is frankly unwatchable. It is, however, a fitting end to what is almost certainly the worst film ever made.

  The last time I talked to Rachel, she had seen Rachel the Film a few times, and I wasn’t sure how to talk to her about it. She was in bed, as usual, but not wearing her hat. She sounded the same as ever: kind of scraggly-voiced and congested in the nose. It occurred to me for the first time that that’s maybe what I sound like a little bit, too.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said.

  For some reason I wanted to go in for a fist pound, but I didn’t.

  “I saw Rachel the Film,” she said.

  “Mmmm.”

  “I liked it.”

  “You know you really don’t have to say that.”

  “No, I did like it.”

  “Uh, if you’re sure.”

  “I mean, it’s probably not my favorite.”

  It was somehow a big relief that she was honest about it. I don’t know why this relieved me. I think I might have a disorder where your emotions frequently malfunction and a lot of the time you’re sitting there feeling something inappropriate. It should be called Emotional Moron Disorder.

  “Yeah, if it was your favor
ite, that would mean you had kind of questionable taste, because it’s really not very good.”

  “It’s good, it’s just not as good as some of the others.”

  “No, seriously. I don’t know what happened. We worked insanely hard on it, and then, I don’t know. We just couldn’t do it.”

  “You guys did fine.”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  I wanted to explain to her why things had gone so horribly wrong, but obviously I didn’t know why. I mean, Earl and I are not expert filmmakers, but at this point in our careers we should be creating something better than the sickening depressing chaos that is Rachel the Film.

  “You’re funny,” she said. She had a bigger smile on her face than I had seen in a while.

  “What?”

  “You’re so hard on yourself. It’s funny.”

  “I’m hard on myself because I’m a jackass.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “No, you have no idea.”

  Maybe I couldn’t explain how we had made the Worst Film in the Entire World. But I could talk some trash on myself! I’m starting to realize that this is my favorite thing.

  “No, you don’t have to live inside my head. For every, just, insanely stupid thing I do or say, there are like fifty even worse ones that I just barely avoid doing or saying, just out of dumb luck.”

  “Greg.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m happy we became friends again.”

  “Oh yeah? I mean, yeah. I mean, me, too.”

  And then we sat and didn’t say anything for a while. You’re probably hoping that I was sitting there overflowing with love and tenderness. Maybe you should think about switching to a different book. Even to, like, an owner’s manual to a refrigerator or something. That would be more heartwarming than this.

  Because mostly I was feeling resentful and annoyed. I was resentful at Rachel for deciding to die. How stupid does that sound? There’s a decent chance that I’m not even a human being. Anyway, yeah, I was pissed that she was just going to go die. And I was maybe even more pissed that I had felt manipulated into pretending, in Rachel the Film, like I thought she wasn’t. I had looked into the camera and said, “I know you can get better,” and “I believe in you.” You could even see in my stupid eyes that I didn’t believe what I was saying. There was no way to edit that to make it look any other way. And obviously I’m a colossal jackass, but it was also Rachel who put me in that stupid position, by giving up on her entire life and leaving everyone else to pretend that it wasn’t happening.