An edited note! This is not the same ending I used before. I have an edited version of the previous ending as well, if anyone wants to read it. Harsh critiques are always welcome and appreciated!
Richard Cory
By Edwin Arlington Robinson
“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked,
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich--yes, richer than a king--
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place…”
Everyone’s Hero
By River
Knowing high school, one knows that hallways during passing periods are so noisy that the band geeks wear earplugs to protect their fine-tuned musical hearing. With jocks making out with the cheerleaders and everyone handling an armload of books, a hallway can be a perilous place for anyone lacking balance or coordination. For Richard Cory, none of this was a problem, just because he was…well, Richard Cory.
People filed out of an Advanced Placement Chem class chatting excitedly about how their copper cycle experiments were progressing. Some of the girls complained about how the lab goggles left marks on their nose and forehead and, admittedly, it looked rather silly. Richard and a couple of his guy friends left the room sporting similar goggle marks, engaged in a controlled conversation about possibly the dorkiest thing a high school boy could associate himself with: the Mac versus PC argument. No one cared that he talked about that, though. After all, he was Richard.
Another student across the hallway caught sight of him, and shouted, “Richard! Wazzup, man?”
He looked up and replied, “Nothing. How are you?” His voice rang clear and strong over the heads of the gossiping students, and caught everyone’s attention. Girls, especially, whipped their pretty heads up to see him. His flashing smile and neatly groomed dark hair made him a handsome bachelor, but his eyes were such a deep shade of blue that most of the female poets who saw him had taken it upon themselves to immortalize them with their words.
“Richard!” “Rich Kid!” “Rich!” “Patchy!” People called out, trying to get his attention. He talked to everyone he could, but he had to keep moving. Ten minute passing periods left only so much time to collaborate with acquaintances. Then again, no one who knew Richard ever doubted that they were anything less of his best friend.
They were not his best friends, of course. His closest, most personal friend was, obviously, me. Runner-up for the title of “Richard’s Closest Companion” was Paul, a slightly dramatic individual with a brilliant muse for everything artistic. He was a good guy. He and I had been friends sense childhood, and enjoyed each other’s company. Next in line after him was Juliette. She was stunning in every way possible: dark, mysterious, transparently skinny, with full lips and bright green eyes searching for some kind of trouble to get into. I wasn’t too fond of her; perhaps she just rubbed me the wrong way. Richard stopped to talk to her in the crammed hall. They often sang duets together, he with his majestic tenor voice and she with her sweet soprano one. I knew they had a concert later that week, and saw that she flirted with him shamelessly. He didn’t mind though, so I tried not to either. Instead, I waited patiently outside room 420 for him to wade out of the sea of people, a confident smile ever-lightening his face. He always came to talk to me before English; no matter how busy he was, he always had time for me.
“Lillian! There are too many people who know me!” he greeted me, flustered. Then, like any boy (even a magical wondrous boy), he ran out of things to say to get the conversation rolling. That was what I was there for.
“That’s what you get for being everyone’s hero,” I said, teasing. Richard proved to be good at everything he did, and as a result of that, did everything. “How are you?”
“Crazy busy,” he answered. I already knew that; after all, Richard’s schedule could have been in the Guinness Book of World Records for Most Chaotically Hectic Schedule Followed by a Minor. “I have a couple projects due later this week, a piano recital on Wednesday, a couple rehearsals with Juliette after school for a concert next week, and I have a Boy Scout trip this weekend.”
“Dude,” I said, my speech sounding like colloquial gibberish next to his sophisticated manner. “I’m sorry you’re so busy!”
“It’s not your fault!” he said, shocked. I loved it when he looked surprised; though his face was still that of an angel, his expression looked so human – he didn’t know everything after all.
“I know,” I answered, “But it sounds hard. Take time to smell the roses, OK?”
“Alright,” he replied, flashing one of his great smiles.
“Oh!” I had just remembered that I had to give one of my friends something before class. “I have to go stalk someone; I’ll be right back. Sorry!”
“For what?” Richard said, as I dove into the slime mold of teenagers in the hall. I spotted Gigi by the Chem room Richard had just left.
“Hey, Lily,” she said tiredly.
“Hey, I was thinking about you this morning,” I started, “so I made you a batch of cinnamon rolls.” Gigi was having a hard week, and it was the least I could do to make her feel special. I handed her a Tupperware that smelled sticky sweet. Her face lit up, then next thing I knew, she was hugging me.
“Thank you so much! You just made my day,” she said.
“You’re welcome, but I did it for entirely selfish reasons. I wanted to make cinnamon rolls, and you just so happened to be the first person I thought to give them to,” I said mischievously. “I gotta get to class. Bye!”
The side trip to find Gigi nearly made me late for English. I passed Richard’s desk on the way to turn in my homework; he was across the room talking to Paul about the latest play they auditioned for. I dug around in my bag for another Tupperware, inside which, was something so insanely magical that I had to give it to Richard: a mini-cheesecake. After all, who doesn’t like mini-cheesecakes? I left it on his binder, and then turned in the rest of my homework. When he returned to his seat to find the tasty present, he didn’t even ask who gave it. He glared at me, pretending to be angry, and made a move to give it back.
“Richard Cory,” I said, feigning bamboozlement. “You aren’t about to refuse a gift, are you?”
“You are too kind,” he said pleadingly. “One day, I am going to buy you something-“
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, humbled. The only time I ever interrupted Richard was when he tried to give me things. Accepting gifts was not my friendship forte; I liked giving people things, though. The looks on their faces when they find little surprises when they least expect it make it beyond worthwhile every time.
He looked sour for a moment, then said before he sat down, “Actually, I really need to talk to you later. It’s important.” I always hated that when he said those words. It frightened me that things could go wrong in his crazy life and completely ruin his schedule; it worried me even more that I might not be able to help.
The really important scary thing came up during the lunch time conversation. He started off explaining how colleges sent fliers and advertisements to him in the mail (with a 33 ACT score freshman year, I expected nothing less). Then, he told me about a summer program at Stanford, and how his attendance would guarantee him admission there once he finished high school.
“What should I do?” he asked. “I don’t want my whole summer to be full of commitments, but this is the sort of opportunity I don’t want to pass up.” I thought about it for a couple seconds; with my own selfish reasons, I wanted him home over the summer.
“Richard, you’re going to get into Stanford anyway,” I answered. “Prioritize your summer goals on paper; that’ll help your decision.” I always felt lame giving advice to an angel, but when he asked, I delivered to the best of my ability.
“Thank you, Lillian,” he said after a while. “I will do that.” I really hoped he stayed home; we had people to help, food to make, and fantastic hours to spend together. Time with Richard was the highlight of my existence, and that time was crunched already with a family cruise vacation in the middle.
I thought of nothing besides “Richard this” and “Richard that” the rest of the day. He was the kind of guy you can’t get out of your head, even if you wanted to (which you never do; who would want to forget a hero?). He could change the world if he so desired, and I wanted to be there for that. It pleased me to watch him do things like choir and drama, too. He had a definite dramatic talent, but it was hard to see him kiss Juliette on stage when he could have spent those few moments helping someone in need. He really needed to find a community service opportunity of some sort. Serving people results in a calmness and joy that one can’t find anywhere else; that satisfaction kept me from going completely insane at times.
I continued to contemplate things concerning Richard as I drove home from work at the end of the day. The picture of him kissing Juliette, and the image of the look in his eye when he “acted” being in love invaded my brain and wouldn’t leave. Juliette took so many things in her friendship with Richard for granted; she had been trying to get a good kiss out of him for years. Now, it had been scripted for them. Honestly, I felt like I had the short end of the stick.
I saw red lights in the road up ahead of me, but they were at a distance. No, they were frighteningly close, and I realized in a split second that I was speeding through an intersection. My peripheral vision caught car headlights to my side - oh God, I love you, help me to be strong!
And Lord, be with Richard. I – .
~ ~ ~
The emergency crew arrived at the scene of the accident at about 7:45 pm. The 1997 Toyota Corolla was broadsided by the 2006 Nissan Titan truck, and rolled across the intersection into the stop light pole. The driver of the Titan sustained some minor injuries and is staying the night at Campbell County Memorial Hospital. The driver of the Corolla was dead on scene, and was later identified as Lillian J. Brooks.
~ ~ ~
Richard Cory mourned Lillian’s death, but life moved on at a breathtaking pace, so he found that he could not take too much time for sorrow. He had much to do, and much more was asked of him. Quickly, he lost joy in everything he had once loved, and despised how no one helped with him in his time of need.
People tried to help, but they did not know exactly what to do. Paul tried to convince him to do more drama to get Lillian off his mind, and Juliette had her beauty to try to distract him. In the end, Richard found that these friends overcrowded the void Lillian left.
He could not show that he missed her, though, because there was a pressure to be perfect like he always was, but the more he tried to achieve, the further he fell into his depression. Then came the day where Richard Cory could not stand how he was living, or how people treated him. They all expected too much, teachers, friends, even Lillian wanted him to change the world, and the world intimidated him into silence.
Good friends act as safety valves when one is distressed; if the safety valve breaks, the integrity of the heart collapses when too much weight is pressed onto it. God did not make man to save the world: there was no way for Richard Cory to be Everyone’s Hero.
“…So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.”
Please do not post your full name on YWS. Thanks. ~Saint Razorblade
