Me And Earl And The Dying Girl Part 26

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.

finis.h.i.+ng, husky-voiced So, uh, yeah.

How the f.u.c.k 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 jacka.s.s, but that's the truth. I was pretty sure I couldn't say anything sensitive, and rea.s.suring, 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, jacka.s.s.

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 rus.h.i.+ng to make this film before she died. Plus, I mean, why the h.e.l.l 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 doc.u.mentary 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. .h.i.tting 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 favorite, 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 jacka.s.s."

"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 p.i.s.sed that she was just going to go die. And I was maybe even more p.i.s.sed 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 jacka.s.s, 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.

Maybe Rachel sensed that I was thinking about the film, because she brought it up again.

"It was really nice of you to do that film."

"Well, it sucked, but we had to do it. There's no good reason why it's not better."

"You didn't have to do it!"

Rachel was sort of wide-eyed.

"Yeah, we did."

"No."

"You're literally our only fan. We had to make something for you."

"Well, actually, there is something I want you do for me."

This was so unexpected that I was able to make a joke.

"But we already made you a film! Is there no end to your demands, tyrant. TYRANT WOMAN."

There was some weak snorting and giggling. Then it seemed like she had to compose herself before talking again.

"I went through that college book."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And I found some film schools in there."

It took me a surprisingly long time to get the point of what she was talking about.

"I also found some other colleges with good film programs," she said.

I was nodding my head stupidly. I knew I couldn't argue with any of this.