No rhyme or reason

Who: Janey/Ramona
Where: Eidolon High
When: Afternoon

Even on the days when Ramona felt stifled in school, this was always one of the bright spots in her afternoon. And while those days had been more frequent lately, today certainly wasn’t one of them. What that meant was that she was positively eager to get through the hallways where so many other students dallied and talked, because aside from possibly seeing Arienne or Jessie? Nothing held more promise than English class.

Still, she was giddy from the previous night’s escapades with the other girls, exhilarated at how easy it had been to sneak out and pilfer a bit of money from her father’s study, but that giddiness would have an outlet soon enough. Mrs. McKinnon’s class seemed like one of the few where Ramona wasn’t the only active participant, too, like the teacher managed to hold some interest. For her it wasn’t so unusual, and for the other students it was a good thing to see.

Of course, she was early. It was still lunch time, but there were few social prospects to hold Ramona’s interest once she’d finished eating, so she didn’t feel quite so odd to be the first student heading into the classroom while so many others counted down the minutes outside of it.

Janey didn’t feel right not acknowledging the city’s recent events in the classroom. She’d never believed in that. The purpose of education--all education, no matter the subject--was to form a stronger connection with the world and enrich one’s interactions with it, but she’d struggled with the issue of what to have their students read. Though the city itself wasn’t involved in the war they’d heard so much about, their own internal war seemed to reflect the chaos that penetrated every day’s news from around the world.

So she’d assigned them two of her favorite war poems--that is, two that had always touched her quite deeply. Robert Lowell’s The Dead In Europe, though lesser known, had been ringing in her head ever since the attack at the park. She knew she’d always loved the poem, but felt it even more strongly on the heels of the attacks, especially with how they’d left her questioning her faith. She hoped some of her students could relate to the poem’s words. Although she was a bit anxious about whether those who had lost loved ones might be traumatized by the images presented, the discussion might be good for them. They hadn’t talked about it much, not in school at least, though she was sure among their peers each of them had, but different voices tended to come out in the classroom.

When Ramona entered the classroom, Janey was looking over her copy of In Flander’s Fields, the other poem she’d assigned. Her lips moved to the words, though her voice was silent. We llived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie... She was never sure whether she’d be able to coax a student to read aloud, so she was always prepared, because much of the power of poetry came from bringing it to life.

Stepping inside, Ramona didn’t even try to stop a tiny smile from forming at the sight of Janey. Here was a teacher, indeed. She may not have commanded the exorbitant fees that Ramona’s father paid her private tutors, but she loved her work and truly put herself into it, and that was one of a slew of reasons that this was her favorite class. “Mrs. McKinnon?” she greeted, lingering just past the doorway. “Is it alright if I sit? I know class isn’t in session yet.”

The appearance of one of her students startled Janey, but when she saw it was Ramona she smiled. “Of course, come on in.” Although she knew it wasn’t appropriate to have favorites, Ramona was definitely one of them. She was genuinely interested in the work and very opinionated. Even though she knew that Ramona rarely did the readings outside of class, it didn’t bother her because the girl still contributed impressively to the discussions. She decided to take advantage of the girl’s appearance. “I was just reading over last night’s poems. Would you be interested in reading one of them aloud for me?”

“Of course,” Ramona answered with muted enthusiasm, nodding as she moved towards Janey’s desk. A private read was just fine, and even in front of other students Ramona didn’t tend towards fidgeting or awkwardness like some kids her age. “They were very moving pieces, Mrs. McKinnon, though my father was a bit confused about the choice to read them. He tends to view all poetry as a bygone thing, as if the modern age hasn’t produced any of its’ own,” she explained, waiting patiently by Janey’s desk. And just like Janey herself, ‘The Dead in Europe’ had brought vivid remembrances of the attack on the park to Ramona, but she was an expert at hiding such confused feelings.

“To be fair, I do appreciate poetry of bygone eras far better than the poetry I read from today,” Janey said. “And in fact I probably don’t keep up with modern poetry nearly as much as I should. But ‘The Dead in Europe’ was certainly my favorite of the two. It’s a poem I’ve always loved, but now it holds a much more personal meaning,” Janey confessed. “Especially its prayerful undertones.” The Hail Mary was her security blanket, and she remembered the words cascading past her lips as the screams and the blood had erupted around her. She had some insecurities about assigning such evocative poetry, and fears about whether she could contain her own emotions, but she found it much easier in her classroom than anywhere else.

That admission drew Ramona’s lips into a thin, worried line as she nodded in understanding. Janey had been in the park, hadn’t she? The terror of it was unforgettable, and finding understanding in a work that dealt with similarly dark consequences seemed as good an outlet as anything could be. “How are you? Since... since the park,” she asked candidly, stepping to the side of Janey’s desk. “It’s been a very troubling time for me as well, and I...” Ramona trailed, frowning over it. “I can’t understand it, why someone would do such a thing, or any of those awful stories in the Echo.”

"I know," Janey replied. Ramona's keen awareness and reflections on the condition of the world around her were one of thei thing that set her apart from her peers and also reminded Janey of herself at that age. She'd turned to God in her uncertainty, but she didn't know how Ramona was dealing with what she was feeling. "I've been fine, really, I know I'm one of the lucky ones." The terror of the attack still haunted her, the smell of blood she couldn't forget. But she wouldn't let herself feel sorry for herself knowing how blessed she'd been to survive. Her recent concern for Danny had actually helped to distract her from her more selfish anxieties. "Have you been handling things okay?"

She nodded slightly, a momentary flicker of a smile on Ramona’s lips when she thought back to sneaking out with Arienne the other night. It died quickly, crushed under somber memories of the same attack that haunted Janey. “Well enough,” she answered with another nod. “My father saw fit to expand his security for me, which is chafing? But I understand as well, he worries about my safety a great deal.” So much so that she had a hunch that he’d had her one and only suitor eliminated. But there was no proof, no anything to mark the boy’s presence on earth. “I keep to myself outside of classes, and most nights have been calm? But some are... they are not good ones, Mrs. McKinnon,” Ramona confessed. “There is no sense to it, to any of what is happening. This... this Tyger in the newspaper? Why would they cause so much harm? What is there to gain from it?”

Janey thought a personal security team didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She’d been so anxious in public ever since the attacks, and she couldn’t make Danny accompany her everywhere, even though she felt better that way. Immediately following the attack at the park he had done so, showing how much it had scared him to almost lose her. “I know the feeling. My husband can definitely be like that, though it’s been rather nice lately to feel protected. Of course, he’s sort of always been that way, even before he was a cop.” She picked up the newspaper that was still folded on her desk, glanced at the headline again, and shuddered. “There’s no rhyme or reason to the violence, and that’s the part that is the most chilling, isn’t it? If we could put a name and a face to it, and figure out why, things might make a little more sense.”

“No rhyme or reason,” Ramona echoed quietly, lips pursed in consideration. The attacks hadn’t made sense to her, there had been no logic to them, no clear benefit for the attacker even, but Janey’s words? They put things in a different light. “Perhaps there is. He named himself after Blake’s poem, yes? I’m sure the police have considered the symbolism inherent in such a choice, to brand oneself with such imagery,” she mused, feeling less threatened by it when she could put it in such dispassionate terms. “After all, Blake’s intent was to make the reader consider the idea that God put as much care and attention into the vicious things in this world as he did the beautiful ones.”

Janey had briefly considered assigning “The Tyger”, but decided that would probably be taking things a bit too far. She didn’t want to risk bringing the name into the classroom, not with the fear it undoubtedly stirred in everyone. But Ramona’s quoting of the poem didn’t surprise her. She did wonder, however, if Ramona was right, if the police had indeed taken the name’s origin into account. She’d have to ask Danny. “But do you really believe God could have anything to do with this?”

“I believe what I always have,” Ramona answered without skipping a beat, this being a point she’d had to explain too many times to count. “God’s plan is unknowable, and reaches beyond what we can comprehend. To me, faith is accepting that and still being able to love Him, to trust that whatever may happen, He loves us just as much. I cannot hate this Tyger, Mrs. McKinnon, and I have tried. For the things he’s done, the nights I haven’t slept, the chain of events he began? I wish I could condemn him.” Her mouth went thin and strained, brow lining with worry and personal strife at that confession. Ramona wanted to damn him, to take the gun she’d pilfered from her father and put it to his head. “But I could not do that and truly claim to love God at the same time. No one who harms another of His children can.”

Ramona’s words echoed in her mind, and Janey began biting her lip anxiously, uncertain of what to say. Somehow the girl seemed years more mature than Janey in the strength of her faith. She could blame it on being jaded--she could say the miscarriages had done that to her, and they had, in a sense, cracked tiny fissures in the cornerstone of her faith. But that wasn’t what this was about. This was about the other people that God loved, and the things they did of their own will. It was unusual for Janey not to try and find some good in a person, and even the tiniest sliver of goodness was enough to see why God could love someone. But this Tyger, this monster? All she had seen of him was evil, and without a face to put on him, it was hard to imagine there was anything more to him. “All I can see are the horrors he’s committed,” Janey confessed. “I wish I could look past that, but I can’t.”

The truth of it was that Ramona’s faith hadn’t been tested yet, not the way Janey’s had. Very few hardships had ever truly touched the Bartelucci girl’s life, but seeing how hard it could be for others had strengthened her resolve. “I still see them too,” Ramona assured her in a softer voice. “But I refuse to let them be my undoing. We survived, and we cannot squander that in fear.”

The sharp chime of the schoolbell startled her, making Ramona twitch with more tension over their talk than she’d been showing. She exhaled with a shaky smile as the hallways began to fill with life, raising a hand to her heart. “I look forward to the readings, in any case,” Ramona said a moment later. “Anything we can do together will do us all well.” Even if her classmates didn’t seem to love the poetry like Ramona did.

Tears welled in Janey’s eyes, taking her by surprise. She knew Ramona’s reading of the poetry would be just as moving as the conversation they’d just had, and hoped the other students would feel it as strongly. She wanted to hug Ramona, but she knew it might be considered inappropriate, and now other students were filing into the room. “You’re right,” she said. She handed her copies of the poems to Ramona. “I really hope you’ll read one for the class; I think your classmates would benefit from hearing the emotion you’d put into it,” she told her. “And thank you,” she added, more quietly. She hoped the girl heard. Her strength and hope would give Janey something to strive for--to be as she had been in her younger years.