Read We Need to Talk About Kevin Online
Authors: Lionel Shriver
Tags: #Fiction, #Psychological, #Teenage Boys, #Epistolary Fiction, #General, #Literary, #Massacres, #School Shootings, #High Schools, #New York (State)
We Need to Talk About Kevin (58 page)
“I need a drink of water,” he announced, somehow managing to hiss without pronouncing any S’s, and strode to the sink.
“Kev,” you said. “Don’t take anything you might have overheard to heart. It’s easy to misunderstand when you hear something out of context.”
“Why would I not know the context?” He took a single swallow from his glass. “I am the context.” He put the glass on the counter, and left.
I’m certain of it: That moment, that hard swallow, is when he decided.
A week later, we received another letter from the school board. Already relieved of her classes when the accusations were first made, Vicki Pagorski would be permanently removed to administrative duties and never allowed direct supervision of students again. Yet in the absence of any evidence beyond the boys’ word against hers, she was not to be discharged. We both found the decision cowardly, though for different reasons. It seemed to me that she was either guilty or she was not, and there was no justification for taking an innocent from an occupation that she clearly adored.
You
were outraged that she was not to be fired and that none of the other parents planned to sue.
You
were outraged that she was not to be fired and that none of the other parents planned to sue.
After slumping around the house as pointedly as one can go about an exercise that is essentially rounded, Kevin confided in you that he had grown depressed. You said you could see why. Stunned by the injustice of the school board’s slap on the wrist, Kevin felt humiliated, so of course he was depressed. Equally you fretted that he had intuited an impending divorce that we both wanted to put off making official until we had to.
He wanted to go on Prozac. From my random sampling, a good half of his student body was on one antidepressant or another, though he did request
Prozac
in particular. I’ve always been leery of legal restoratives, and I did worry about the drug’s reputation for flattening; the vision of our son even more dulled to the world boggled the mind. But so rarely out of the States those days, I, too, had acculturated myself to the notion that in a country with more money, greater freedom, bigger houses, better schools, finer health care, and more unfettered opportunity than anywhere else on earth, of course an abundance of its population would be out of their minds with sorrow. So I went along with it, and the psychiatrist we sought seemed as happy to hand out fistfuls of pharmaceuticals as our dentist to issue free lollipops.
Prozac
in particular. I’ve always been leery of legal restoratives, and I did worry about the drug’s reputation for flattening; the vision of our son even more dulled to the world boggled the mind. But so rarely out of the States those days, I, too, had acculturated myself to the notion that in a country with more money, greater freedom, bigger houses, better schools, finer health care, and more unfettered opportunity than anywhere else on earth, of course an abundance of its population would be out of their minds with sorrow. So I went along with it, and the psychiatrist we sought seemed as happy to hand out fistfuls of pharmaceuticals as our dentist to issue free lollipops.
Most children are mortified by the prospect of their parents’ divorce, and I don’t deny that the conversation he overheard from the hallway sent Kevin into a tailspin. Nevertheless, I was disconcerted. That boy had been trying to split us up for fifteen years. Why wasn’t he satisfied? And if I really was such a horror, why wouldn’t he gladly jettison his awful mother? In retrospect, I can only assume that it was bad enough living with a woman who was cold, suspicious, resentful, accusatory, and aloof. Only one eventuality must have seemed worse, and that was living with you, Franklin. Getting stuck with Dad.
Getting stuck with Dad the Dupe.
Eva
MARCH 25, 2001
Dear Franklin,
I have a confession to make. For all my ragging on you in these days, I’ve become shamefully dependent on television. In fact, as long as I’m baring all: One evening last month in the middle of
Frasier
, the tube winked out cold, and I’m afraid that I rather fell apart—banging the set, plugging and unplugging, wiggling knobs. I’m long past weeping over
Thursday
on a daily basis, but I go into a frenzy when I can’t find out how Niles takes the news that Daphne’s going to marry Donnie.
Frasier
, the tube winked out cold, and I’m afraid that I rather fell apart—banging the set, plugging and unplugging, wiggling knobs. I’m long past weeping over
Thursday
on a daily basis, but I go into a frenzy when I can’t find out how Niles takes the news that Daphne’s going to marry Donnie.
Anyway, tonight after the usual chicken breast (a bit overcooked), I was flicking through the channels when the screen suddenly filled with our son’s face. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not. And this wasn’t the ninth-grade school photo all the papers ran—out of date, black-and-white, with its acid grin—but Kevin’s more robust visage at seventeen. I recognized the interviewer’s voice. It was Jack Marlin’s documentary.
Marlin had ditched the dry thriller title “Extracurricular Activities” for the punchier “Bad Boy,” reminding me of you;
I’ll finish off that bad boy in a couple of hours
, you’d say, about an easy scouting job. You applied the expression to just about everything save our son.
I’ll finish off that bad boy in a couple of hours
, you’d say, about an easy scouting job. You applied the expression to just about everything save our son.
To whom Jack Marlin applied it readily enough. Kevin, you see, was the star. Marlin must have gotten Claverack’s consent, for interspersed with shots of the tearful aftermath—the piles of flowers outside the gym, the memorial service, Never Again town meetings—was an exclusive interview with
KK
himself. Rattled, I almost switched it off. But after a minute or two, I was riveted. In fact, Kevin’s manner was so arresting that at first I could barely attend to what he said. He was interviewed in his dormitory cubicle—like his room, kept in rigid order and unadorned with posters or knickknacks. Tipping his chair on two legs, hooking an elbow around its back, he looked thoroughly in his element. If anything, he seemed larger, full of himself, bursting from his tiny sweats, and I had never seen him so animated and at his ease. He basked under the camera’s eye as if under a sunlamp.
KK
himself. Rattled, I almost switched it off. But after a minute or two, I was riveted. In fact, Kevin’s manner was so arresting that at first I could barely attend to what he said. He was interviewed in his dormitory cubicle—like his room, kept in rigid order and unadorned with posters or knickknacks. Tipping his chair on two legs, hooking an elbow around its back, he looked thoroughly in his element. If anything, he seemed larger, full of himself, bursting from his tiny sweats, and I had never seen him so animated and at his ease. He basked under the camera’s eye as if under a sunlamp.
Marlin was off-screen, and his questions were deferential, almost tender, as if he didn’t want to scare Kevin away. When I tuned in, Marlin was asking delicately whether Kevin still maintained that he was one of the tiny percentage of Prozac patients who had a radical and antipathetic reaction to the drug.
Kevin had learned the importance of sticking by your story by the time he was six. “Well, I definitely started feeling a little weird.”
“But according to both the
New England Journal of Medicine
and the
Lancet
, a causal linkage between Prozac and homicidal psychosis is purely speculative. Do you think more research—?”
New England Journal of Medicine
and the
Lancet
, a causal linkage between Prozac and homicidal psychosis is purely speculative. Do you think more research—?”
“Hey,” Kevin raised a palm, “I’m no doctor. That defense was my lawyer’s idea, and he was doing his job. I said I felt a little weird. But I’m not looking for an excuse here. I don’t blame some satanic cult or pissy girlfriend or big bad bully who called me a fag. One of the things I can’t stand about this country is lack of
accountability
. Everything Americans do that doesn’t work out too great has to be somebody else’s fault. Me, I stand by what I done. It wasn’t anybody’s idea but mine.”
accountability
. Everything Americans do that doesn’t work out too great has to be somebody else’s fault. Me, I stand by what I done. It wasn’t anybody’s idea but mine.”
“What about that sexual abuse case? Might that have left you feeling bruised?”
“Sure I was
interfered with
. But hell,” Kevin added with a confidential leer, “that was
nothing
compared to what happens
here.
” (They cut to an interview with Vicki Pagorski, whose denials were apoplectic with methinks-thou-dost-protest-too-much excess. Of course, too feeble an indignation would have seemed equally incriminating, so she couldn’t win. And she really ought to do something about that hair.)
interfered with
. But hell,” Kevin added with a confidential leer, “that was
nothing
compared to what happens
here.
” (They cut to an interview with Vicki Pagorski, whose denials were apoplectic with methinks-thou-dost-protest-too-much excess. Of course, too feeble an indignation would have seemed equally incriminating, so she couldn’t win. And she really ought to do something about that hair.)
“Can we talk a little about your parents, Kevin?” Marlin resumed.
Hands behind head. “Shoot.”
“Your father—did you get along, or did you fight?”
“Mister Plastic?” Kevin snorted. “I should be so lucky we’d have a fight. No, it was all cheery chirpy, hot dogs and Cheez Whiz. A total fraud, you know? All like,
Let’s go to the Natural History Museum, Kev, they have some really neat-o rocks!
He was into some Little League fantasy, stuck in the 1950s. I’d get this,
I luuuuuuv you, buddy!
stuff, and I’d just look at him like,
Who are you talking to, guy?
What does that mean, your dad ‘loves’ you and hasn’t a [
bleep
]ing clue who you are? What’s he love, then? Some kid in
Happy Days.
Not me.”
Let’s go to the Natural History Museum, Kev, they have some really neat-o rocks!
He was into some Little League fantasy, stuck in the 1950s. I’d get this,
I luuuuuuv you, buddy!
stuff, and I’d just look at him like,
Who are you talking to, guy?
What does that mean, your dad ‘loves’ you and hasn’t a [
bleep
]ing clue who you are? What’s he love, then? Some kid in
Happy Days.
Not me.”
“What about your mother?”
“What about her?” Kevin snapped, though until now he’d been affable, expansive.
“Well, there was that civil suit brought for parental negligence—”
“Totally bogus,” said Kevin flatly. “Rank opportunism, frankly. More culture of compensation. Next thing you know, geezers’ll be suing the government for getting old and kids’ll be taking their mommies to court because they came out ugly. My view runs, life sucks;
tough luck.
Fact is, the lawyers knew Mumsey had deep pockets, and that Woolford cow can’t take bad news on the chin.”
tough luck.
Fact is, the lawyers knew Mumsey had deep pockets, and that Woolford cow can’t take bad news on the chin.”
Just then the camera angle panned ninety degrees, zooming in on the room’s only decoration that I could see taped over his bed. Badly creased from having been folded small enough to fit in a pocket or wallet, it was a photograph of me. Jesus Christ, it was that head-shot on an Amsterdam houseboat, which disappeared when Celia was born. I was sure he’d torn it to pieces.
“But whether or not your mother was legally remiss,” Marlin proceeded, “maybe she paid you too little attention—?”
“Oh, lay off my mother.”
This sharp, menacing voice was alien to me, but it must have been useful inside. “Shrinks here spend all day trying to get me to trash the woman, and I’m getting a little tired of it, if you wanna know the truth.”
This sharp, menacing voice was alien to me, but it must have been useful inside. “Shrinks here spend all day trying to get me to trash the woman, and I’m getting a little tired of it, if you wanna know the truth.”
Marlin regrouped. “Would you describe your relationship as close, then?”
“She’s been all over the world, know that? You can hardly name a country where she hasn’t got the T-shirt. Started her own company. Go into any bookstore around here, you’ll see her series. You know,
Smelly Foreign Dumps on a Wing and a Prayer
? I used to cruise into Barnes and Noble in the mall just to look at all those books. Pretty cool.”
Smelly Foreign Dumps on a Wing and a Prayer
? I used to cruise into Barnes and Noble in the mall just to look at all those books. Pretty cool.”
“So you don’t think there’s any way she might have—”
“Look, I could be kind of a creep, okay? And she could be kind of a creep, too, so we’re even. Otherwise, it’s
private,
okay? Such a thing in this country anymore as
private,
or do I have to tell you the color of my underwear? Next question.”
private,
okay? Such a thing in this country anymore as
private,
or do I have to tell you the color of my underwear? Next question.”
“I guess there’s only one question left, Kevin—the big one. Why’d you do it?”
I could tell Kevin had been preparing for this. He inserted a dramatic pause, then slammed the front legs of his plastic chair onto the floor. Elbows on knees, he turned from Marlin to directly address the camera.
“Okay, it’s like this. You wake up, you
watch
TV, and you get in the car and you
listen
to the radio. You go to your little job or your little school, but you’re not going to hear about that on the 6:00 news, since guess what.
Nothing is really happening.
You
read
the paper, or if you’re into that sort of thing you
read
a book, which is just the same as watching only even more boring. You
watch
TV all night, or maybe you go out so you can
watch
a movie, and maybe you’ll get a phone call so you can tell your friends what you’ve been
watching.
And you know, it’s got so bad that I’ve started to notice, the people on TV?
Inside
the TV? Half the time they’re
watching TV.
Or if you’ve got some romance in a movie? What do they do but
go to a movie.
All these people, Marlin,” he invited the interviewer in with a nod. “What are they watching?”
watch
TV, and you get in the car and you
listen
to the radio. You go to your little job or your little school, but you’re not going to hear about that on the 6:00 news, since guess what.
Nothing is really happening.
You
read
the paper, or if you’re into that sort of thing you
read
a book, which is just the same as watching only even more boring. You
watch
TV all night, or maybe you go out so you can
watch
a movie, and maybe you’ll get a phone call so you can tell your friends what you’ve been
watching.
And you know, it’s got so bad that I’ve started to notice, the people on TV?
Inside
the TV? Half the time they’re
watching TV.
Or if you’ve got some romance in a movie? What do they do but
go to a movie.
All these people, Marlin,” he invited the interviewer in with a nod. “What are they watching?”
After an awkward silence, Marlin filled in, “You tell us, Kevin.”
“People like me.”
He sat back and folded his arms.
He sat back and folded his arms.
Marlin would have been happy with this footage, and he wasn’t about to let the show stop now. Kevin was on a roll and had that quality of just getting started. “But people watch other things than killers, Kevin,” Marlin prodded.
“Horseshit,”
said Kevin. “They want to watch something happen, and I’ve made a study of it: Pretty much the definition of something happening is it’s bad. The way I see it, the world is divided into the watchers and the watchees, and there’s more and more of the audience and less and less to see. People who actually do anything are a goddamned endangered species.”
said Kevin. “They want to watch something happen, and I’ve made a study of it: Pretty much the definition of something happening is it’s bad. The way I see it, the world is divided into the watchers and the watchees, and there’s more and more of the audience and less and less to see. People who actually do anything are a goddamned endangered species.”
“On the contrary, Kevin,” Marlin observed sorrowfully, “all too many young people like yourself have gone on killing sprees in the last few years.”
“Lucky for you, too! You need us! What would you do without me, film a documentary on paint drying? What are all those folks doing,” he waved an arm at the camera, “but
watching
me? Don’t you think they’d have changed the channel by now if all I’d done is get an A in Geometry? Bloodsuckers! I do their dirty work for them!”
watching
me? Don’t you think they’d have changed the channel by now if all I’d done is get an A in Geometry? Bloodsuckers! I do their dirty work for them!”
“But the whole point of asking you these questions,” Marlin said soothingly, “is so we can all figure out how to keep this sort of Columbine thing from happening again.”
At the mention of
Columbine,
Kevin’s face soured. “I just wanna go on the record that those two weenies were not pros. Their bombs were duds, and they shot plain old anybody. No standards. My crowd was handpicked. The videos those morons left behind were totally embarrassing. They copied me, and their whole operation was obviously designed to one-up Gladstone—”
Columbine,
Kevin’s face soured. “I just wanna go on the record that those two weenies were not pros. Their bombs were duds, and they shot plain old anybody. No standards. My crowd was handpicked. The videos those morons left behind were totally embarrassing. They copied me, and their whole operation was obviously designed to one-up Gladstone—”
Marlin tried quietly to intrude something like, “Actually, police claim that Klebold and Harris were planning their attack for at least a year,” but Kevin plowed on.
“Nothing, not one thing in that circus went according to plan. It was a 100-percent failure from top to bottom. No wonder those miserable twits wasted themselves—and I thought that was chicken. Part of the package is facing the music. Worst of all, they were hopeless geeks. I’ve read sections of Klebold’s whining, snot-nosed journal. Know one of the groups that chump wanted to avenge himself against?
People who think they can predict the weather.
Had no idea what kind of a statement they were making. Oh, and get this—at the end of the Big Day, those two losers were originally planning to
hijack a jet
and
fly it into the World Trade Center.
Give me a break!”
People who think they can predict the weather.
Had no idea what kind of a statement they were making. Oh, and get this—at the end of the Big Day, those two losers were originally planning to
hijack a jet
and
fly it into the World Trade Center.
Give me a break!”
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