"Let's go upstairs," he urges. She pauses for a nanosecond, then climbs up that oh-so-familiar ladder to that oh-so-familiar room again. Dawson follows her up eagerly, stopping a moment in the windowsill to kiss her. They stumble into the dark room, still laughing. They're making out and making their way over to the bed ... when a lone, dark figure sitting at the bed's edge takes them both by surprise.
Jen is sitting on Dawson's bed in tears, utterly ruined. She looks a wreck, like a drowned rat (which isn't that far from the truth, come to think of it), and is a mess of smudged make-up, damp clothes and tousled hair. She doesn't make any attempt to speak to either Dawson or Joey, she just continues sobbing softly. Obviously, the romantic mood is killed. Dawson and Joey exchange worried looks and rush over to her, full of concern, asking what's happened.
"Ab-Abby and I ... were on the docks," Jen gulps, choking back tears, "... and we were up there ... and we were drinking .... and then she fell back ... and hit her head ... and she's ... she drowned." A deafening silence fills the void. "Abby's dead." As she collapses in yet more tears, Joey hugs her close while Dawson stands behind the pair, stunned.
(Okay, before I go any further here, I'd just like to know ... wouldn't the police want to interview Jen, the key witness in all this? Wouldn't they want her to make her statement, and then release her to the custody of her legal guardian, seeing as she's a minor, and especially as she'd been drinking? How the hell did she get over to Dawson's -- she just walked on out of the police station without anyone saying a word? Yeah, I know, there's only 60 minutes (43, without commercials) and a lot to cram in, so they've got to leave a lot out, but still!!)
Cut from the somber and dark tone of Dawson's room to an exterior shot of Capeside the next morning, full of idyllic blue skies. At the Potter residence, Joey is looking through a photo album on the porch, smiling at pictures of her and Dawson. When she comes across a picture of her and her mother, however, she starts to cry a little.
At this time, Mr. Potter goes out to the porch, and notices the tears rolling down his youngest daughter's face. "It seems like a lifetime ago," he says softly, noting the pictures Joey is looking at. He moves over to her side and smiles at one photo in particular. "Your mother loved that dress. I told her to take it back, that it was too expensive, so she went out and bought two of them just to spite me." He chuckles quietly to himself, but then a serious expression overtakes his face, and he asks Joey why she's looking at the photos in the first place.
"A girl at my school died Saturday night," Joey announces sadly. "She drowned." Joey's father offers his condolences and asks if Joey was close to her. "Not particularly," she replies. "Actually, she was kind of a nightmare, but it got me thinking ... remembering ..." Her voice falters as the tears pool in her eyes, just waiting to spill.
"We never really talked about your mother or her death," Mr. Potter begins calmly, but clearly, Joey wants it to remain that way. "Well, it's getting late and I really have to go to school, so I'll see you later," she blurts out, then leaves the porch hurriedly, leaving her saddened father behind.
Jen's another saddened soul. As she walks through the halls of Capeside High Monday morning, she can feel the stares and whispers of her fellow students from every angle. Entering her first period class, she is met by a grief counsellor named Elizabeth who is there to "facilitate a discussion about Abigail." It's just about the last thing Jen wants to participate in, but she is forced to listen to the counsellor's words.
"I know you've all been dealt a heavy blow, but by sharing your feelings with each other, it should aid in the long and difficult process of what we call grieving," she begins in a slightly condescending yet touchy-feely tone. (Grieving? Huh, is that what it's called? Well, thank you, Elizabeth for clarifying. Geez, if you hadn't told the class that, I bet they all would have thought they were there to sing, dance, tell stories, yuk it up and generally have a grand old time ...)
Some cheerleader-type girl sporting a yellow band around her arm pipes up. "In honour of Abby's memory, the Girls' Service League is distributing yellow arm bands. If anyone would like an arm band, please meet me in the cafeteria at lunch time."
Her announcement is met with silence. Elizabeth begins again, and asks Jen if she would like to talk about some of the feelings she's experiencing, seeing as she was a close friend of Abigail's. Jen bluntly answers no, and Elizabeth is quick to respond that Jen's answer is perfectly okay, and that she understands. (yeah, what-ever ... God, I felt irritated for Jen just having to listen to this aging hippie-type woman! There's nothing worse than condescending, contrived people except condescending, contrived people who force their condescension and contrivedness on you!)
"Andie ... did you know Abigail?" Uh-oh. Andie squirms uncomfortably in her seat, wondering how can she truthfully answer this without being disrespectful and speaking ill of the dead. "Well, um ... I guess I'm feeling shocked. She was so incredibly ... alive ... and had such a great spirit ... it's really a tragedy," she finishes flatly.
Between the armbands, the smarmy counsellor and Andie's flat-out lie, Jen has had enough. She gets up and storms out in a huff, fleeing to the comfort and safety of the girls' bathroom.
In the cafeteria, the cheerleader-type girl is distributing armbands at a little table, thanking those who take them for "honouring Abby's memory." Dawson and Joey are sitting at a nearby table, eating lunch. Since their interrupted moment of passion Saturday night, they haven't had time to do their usual post-mortem (pardon the pun) analysis of the state of their union, so Dawson decides to take this opportunity to set the record straight. He tells Joey he realizes they have a lot to talk about concerning the other night, but --
"Can we just not go there? I mean, there's a lot of stuff going on right now, and we can analyze this to death later," Joey interrupts. Dawson looks mightily relieved. "Great," he smiles, as if she took the words right out of his mouth.
"Dawson, the truth is ... I never really liked Abby (oh, big newsflash there) ... in fact, I actively despised her," Joey admits sheepishly. "Ditto," Dawson agrees, almost happily. "I mean, it's weird. Abby was weird. That she died is weird. The way she died was weird." He reflects a moment before continuing. "I can't imagine what the funeral is going to be like."
Joey is quick with her answer. "I'm not going," she tells him bluntly. "Yeah?" he asks, half-surprised. She sighs, then explains. "Dawson, the last funeral I went to was my mother's. I haven't even been to her gravesite. I think going to Abby's funeral would just open this Pandora's Box of emotions that, frankly, I'd rather keep sealed shut."
"Joey, your mother died three years ago," Dawson states quietly and reasonably. "And you have these feelings you haven't dealt with ... how long were you planning on waiting?"
She sighs, and looks down sadly at the table. "I guess I'm just ... There's a part of me that's still holding on -- the little girl inside just waiting for her return, like her death was just this cosmic error and eventually God will realize He made a terrible mistake and send her back to me, like he did with my dad, and I'll have my mom back." She's on the verge of tears (she isn't the only one, and I'm not referring to Dawson, either) as she tries to continue, to make him understand. "I know, it sounds ridiculous," she sighs, but Dawson is quick to counter that it doesn't.
Yet even though he tries to be a good boyfriend and a best friend and support her point of view, Dawson gently tells Joey her dreams are just that -- dreams. "It's a child's false hope," he says softly. "You're eventually going to have to let it go."
"I don't want to let it go," Joey replies. "You don't know what it's like, Dawson." (And she's right, he doesn't. The pain of slowly losing the one person you love the most, your mother -- the person who is responsible for your very existence -- to a devastating, relentless disease which destroys not only the body but the mind, heart and soul of all those involved ... to explain such feelings to someone who has not encountered it first-hand, well ... words simply fail you. Trust me on this.)
Words don't seem to fail Jen, however, who gives Andie a good tongue-lashing when she follows her into the bathroom to see how Jen is doing. When Andie tells her she's been looking all over for her since Jen stormed out of class, Jen lets the mud fly freely. "Like dealing with Abby's death isn't hard enough, but to watch everyone parade around acting like Abby was their best friend ... it's sickening!" Jen shouts. "Aside from me, Abby didn't have a single friend in Capeside!"
"That's because she was a ..." Andie stops herself before finishing the obvious. "A bitch?" Jen goads her. "Come on, Andie, say it. Abby was a bitch." Andie tritely says she wouldn't go that far, to which Jen points out that she would have three days ago. "But now that she's dead, you wax poetic about her 'great spirit.' It's so insincere!" she fumes.
"I don't think it's appropriate to malign her character after she's gone," Andie offers by way of explanation. Jen points out it isn't maligning if it's true. "Believe me, it would have been easier for everyone if Abby had been this wonderful person with virtuous qualities, but she wasn't. She was mean. The least we can do is acknowledge who she really was." And with that, Jen exits the bathroom angrily.
Hot on her heels, Andie tries to make amends. "Jen, I know this must be hard for you --" Jen's not in the mood for peace-making, though. "I am sick and tired of everybody treating me like I'm some sort of celebrity just because I was at the scene of the crime," she interrupts. "It's funny, Abby spent her entire life shattering our fragile egos, and that's why people disliked her so intensely. Leave it to Abby -- even in her death she's still exposing hypocrisy."
Her words obviously make some sort of impression on Andie, who tries to make Jen and even herself feel better by rationalizing her own behaviour towards Abby when she was alive. "I feel bad, but I tried to reach out to her and every time, she rejected me," Andie tells Jen.
"She rejected you?" Jen hoots. "If you hadn't rejected her at the wedding, none of this would have happened! You kicked us out of the wedding, Andie! That's why we were at the docks in the first place!"
Jen's words sting Andie like a slap across the face. "Don't say that .." she trembles, on the verge of tears. Jen can't handle Andie crying on top of everything else, though. "I'm sorry, I gotta go home -- " Jen blurts and rushes away, leaving an inconsolable Andie behind.
Over at Dawson's, Gale is concerned about how her son is holding up in the aftermath of the drowning. "It's weird," Dawson concludes. "Everyone's playing dutiful mourners, but underneath it all, there's this odd sense that we're all munchkins finally freed from the spell of the Wicked Witch of the East."
Gale smiles in spite of herself, then grows serious. She tells Dawson that while she knows he's dealing with a lot right now, she has some news she has to share with him. Instantly, he becomes alarmed and comments that it sounds serious. Gale admits it is, but it's good news, not bad. "Remember that piece I did on teenage girls?" she asks. "Well, I won the Peele Vision Award for excellence in news broadcasting." Dawson congratulates his mother, who continues, flushed with pride. "But that's not the news ... the news is because of the award, I've been offered a job as a network correspondent. It's a lot of money, it's high profile ... it's in Philadelphia," she finishes weakly.
"Are you gonna take it?" Dawson asks quietly, waiting with baited breath for her answer. (You know, I've never quite understood that expression ... bait in my mind equals worms. Waiting with worm breath? How charming!). Gale mulls over the permutations out loud. Professionally, it's a huge leap for me -- its what I've always worked for." Dawson's feelings on the situation are summed up in one concise word: "Oh." He pauses, then continues. "I don't wanna move to Philly."
"Oh, I completely understand that," Gale nods sympathetically. "You're halfway through high school, I don't want to move you. If I took this job, I assume your father would move back home and I'd come home as often as I could." That isn't the answer Dawson wanted to hear, and he sadly asks what looms on the horizon for her and his father. "Are you just throwing in the towel?"
Gale admits it's the last thing she wants, but she's hitting her head against a wall because Mitch seems to have no interest in making things work. "If I walk away from this career opportunity, and I still lose my marriage ... what do I have?" Dawson tells her she still has him, and she smiles at her son sadly. (apparently, he's not enough)
Over at the Ryans', Jen is curled up in bed and hiding from the world. The world doesn't include Grams, however, who enters her granddaughter's room full of worry over her well-being. When Grams voices her concern, Jen dismisses it and says she's just tired, but good ole Grams knows better.
"I can't say I was particularly fond of your friend Abby," Grams sighs. "I always had the distinct impression she was mocking me." Jen smiles wanly at her grandmother, who seems a teensy bit miffed as she continues. "She was, wasn't she?" "Don't take it personally, Grams," Jen smiles more broadly now. "Abby was mocking everyone."
"But she was your friend," Grams insists. "It's so hard to understand why God would take someone so young, with so much left to learn ... so much to give. It really test's one's faith." Jen mutters that it's lucky she doesn't have any faith to begin with. Of course, Grams won't hear of such a notion in her home, and reminds Jen the Lord works in mysterious ways. "He has a plan," she insists calmly. Again, Jen mutters that if God had a plan for Abby, she certainly wasn't following it. "God has a plan for all of us," Grams continues quietly. "Including Abby ... including you."
Jen is vexed. After all she's been through, a sermon from Grams is the last thing she needs at this point. "Grams, I don't want to have a religious discussion right now --" Unfortunately, Grams does. "It's in times like this --" Jen sighs and interrupts the interruption. "Grams, please, okay?" Her eyes plead with her grandmother to stop the spiritual spiel. Out of pity for her granddaughter, Grams relents. "All right. But I'm here whenever you need me," she tells Jen, who appears to be more grateful for the discussion having come to a close than she is for Grams' offer.
Cut to Pacey and Andie, who are sipping drinks at the local coffee shop. "I can't believe Jen would accuse you of being responsible!" Pacey shakes his head in disbelief, and counts off the events of Abby's fateful night on his fingers: "She was drunk, she fell, she drowned. It's nobody's fault, least of all yours."
"Yeah, but I was so mean to her," Andie replies lamely. "Oh come on, you gotta be kidding me!" Pacey says incredulously. "Abby Morgan was one of the most hideous creatures that lived and breathed in Capeside, and you bent over backwards to befriend her. You really shouldn't be taking this that hard, Andie."
"Don't tell me how I should be feeling," Andie tells her boyfriend sharply. "If I feel upset, then I'm upset. If I feel guilty, then I feel guilty. Those are perfectly valid feelings." Pacey apologizes, telling her he just doesn't like seeing her feeling the way she does. Before Andie can respond, though, Abby's mother enters the store. Mrs. Morgan is just about to leave when she spots Andie with Pacey.
"Don't I know you?" she asks Andie softly. "Uh, yes Mrs. Morgan, I'm Andie McPhee. You drove me home once." "Oh yes," Abby's mother replies. "She talked about you a lot." Needless to say, Andie is surprised by this revelation. "She did?" Andie pushes aside her surprise and offers condolences to Mrs. Morgan, who asks if Andie will be coming to the funeral. "Of course," Andie answers with a small forced smile.
If Andie thought that was a difficult inquiry to fulfill, she must have had the same thought amplified a thousand times over after Mrs. Morgan's next solicitation. "You know, no one's offered to give a eulogy (hmmm ... can't imagine why ...), and I'm not really that familiar with any of her school friends ... you will be saying a few words, won't you? Since she was so fond of you."
Andie is flabbergasted and completely put on the spot, but what other choice does she have except to accept? "Sure ... uh, sure," she weakly smiles. Mrs. Morgan smiles back brightly, while Pacey smiles bemusedly. "Thank you," Mrs. Morgan says gratefully and departs, as Andie looks at Pacey in utter chagrin. "Eulogy?"
In order to prepare for said eulogy, Andie (with Pacey grudgingly in tow) decides to pay her "respects" to Abby with a visit to the Morgan home, where Abby's family is having an open house of sorts (it's neither technically a memorial service nor a wake, so I wasn't sure what the appropriate name was!). On the walk over to the house, Pacey tries to come up with all sorts of excuses for Andie to back out of delivering the eulogy, including telling Abby's mother Andie is just too "upset" to do so.
Typically, Andie won't have any of it. "I have to find a way to honour Abby's memory, both truthfully and respectfully," she tells Pacey. "Her family deserves that much. I'll always remember the nice things people said at my brother's funeral."
Just then, the pair reach up the Morgans' house, a typical New England style, two-storey detached home, complete with slate blue siding and white trim ... the whole 100 yards. Andie comes to a sudden halt at the foot of the driveway. When Pacey asks if she's okay, Andie replies that it just occurred to her that she's never even seen Abby's house. "It's so pretty," Andie remarks absently. "Yeah, I know," Pacey quips. "I was half-expecting this Gothic castle, with gargoyles leering down on you from the spires?"
The two enter the house, which is full of flowers and eerily silent. "Okay, this is morbid," Pacey comments. "Explain to me again exactly what this is going to accomplish besides making you even more freaked out?" Andie tells him she wants to see Abby's room -- "where she brushed her hair, and planned her future ..." "Why?" Pacey asks bluntly. Andie is exasperated. "Look, we'll just give our condolences and slip into her room," she answers.
Residents of Capeside are grieving in different ways. For Joey, Abby's death brings back painful memories of her mother. Dawson doesn't quite know what to make of it all, he's half horrified and half relieved. Andie is determined to meet the grieving process head-on, no matter the cost, and do the "right" thing. Meanwhile, amid all the suffering and sorrow and confusion, Jen is shown handling it in her own way, too -- silently drinking out of a mickey of whiskey at the pier, at the exact spot where Abby drowned (which has now been magically transformed into a makeshift flower-covered memorial).
Back to Andie and Pacey, who have made the trek up to Abby's bedroom undetected. It is very "girly," with lots of framed posters and prints on the walls and decorated in tones of pale grey with sunny yellow trim -- a direct contrast to the temperament of its former occupant. Pacey is uncomfortable with the whole situation ("What if Abby's mother saw us come in here together? She probably thinks I'm trying to get lucky in the middle of her daughter's memorial!"), but Andie is adamant.
Andie ignores him, commenting instead on how strange the room is, "almost like it's waiting for her to come back ..." "This is really creepy, Andie. Can we go please?" Pacey implores. "Wait a minute," Andie tells him while curiously looking around at miscellaneous objects here and there. When she spots a slim blue book on Abby's dresser, Andie excitedly announces to Pacey that she's found Abby's diary. "You know, the real thoughts of any girl lie within the confines of her personal diary," Andie proclaims.
She grabs the book and begins leafing through it, but Pacey snatches it away an instant later. "You know what, peoples' privacy deserves to be respected -- even in death," he chides. Andie snatches the book back from him. "I'm not doing this to satisfy my curiosity, Pacey, I'm doing this for Abby. I wan to be able to give her a eulogy that does justice to her character."
Andie sits on Abby's bed and resumes browsing through the journal. "Let's see ..." Picking a page at random, she begins to read.
"Dear Diary, Another unbelievably annoying day here on Walton's Mountain. That slut Jen Lindley literally stole my new boyfriend from under my nose. She's such a bleach-blonde hosebag --"
Startled by the entry's blatant mean spiritedness, Andie stops reading abruptly and looks up at Pacey. "She was probably just having a bad day," Andie suggest lightly by way of explanation. "Suuuure," Pacey nods, humouring her. Thumbing through a few more pages, Andie continues reading.
"Dear Diary, My mother is driving me insane. I hate her so much I must be adopted. I can't believe I share the same genes with that dried-up old wench --"
Andie stops again, shocked by what she has just read. "Just another bad day, right?" Pacey chortles mockingly. Andie nods solemnly. Determined to prove him wrong by finding a kernel of niceness in Abby's personal thoughts, Andie flips through the book some more, and selects another passage to read.
"Dear Diary, That new girl Andie is such a ..." (At this point, Andie voice sounds triumphant. She's convinced she's finally found something sincere and heartwarming -- after all, Mrs. Morgan did say Abby was "fond" of her, right?) "... psycho?!"
"What?!" Andie shouts incredulously as she looks up at Pacey, then continues reading.
"She just won't take a hint. How many ways can you tell a person you don't like them? And that boyfriend of hers is a --"
Andie gasps in shock, but before she can vocalize Abby's words, Pacey jumps up and snaps the book shut firmly. "I don't wanna know," Pacey says firmly, putting the journal back on the dresser as he ushers a protesting Andie out of the room. "I don't wanna hear about it. Let's go."
Meanwhile, Dawson corners his father in the school's staff lounge, determined to vocalize a few words of his own. Mitch is happy to see his son, and offers some trite words about death and grieving. "When I was younger, my first few experiences with death were shocking. And as I get older, it doesn't get any easier. But it does help you put your life into perspective," he notes, trying to sound sympathetic and wise. "It makes you realize you have to grab on to the people you love and never let go."
Dawson isn't one to miss an opportunity. "On that note," he segues, "Mom was offered a job as a network correspondent in Philly." Mitch is silent following his son's announcement. "Do you have anything to say?" Dawson prompts. "I'll call her and congratulate her," Mitch states solemnly; clearly, Dawson's words have taken him by surprise.
"That's it?" Dawson fumes. "You're gonna call her up and congratulate her and let her walk out of your life?" Mitch doesn't say a word. "Grab on to those you love, huh?" his son mutters at him before storming out of the room in disgust.
Over at the Icehouse, Jack and Joey are working away in tandem, Jack all the while trying to wheedle out of Joey what the current status of her relationship with Dawson is. "I've tried biting my tongue, (not hard enough) but, uh ... the $64,000 question has to be asked: What's up with you and Dawson?"
Joey answers him with a giggle, a small shake of the head and a quick "Nothing." Jack won't let her off the hook that easily, though. "You two shared a pretty conspicuous, non-nothing kiss the other night," he observes. Using the broom he's sweeping with as a microphone, he shoves it under Joey's face, waiting for her reply like a tabloid reporter ambushing a celebrity.
"Yeah, well ... we're putting it on hold," she answers, a tad flustered. "We have enough to deal with without adding our complicated relationship to the mix, so ..." Her voice trails off.
"I'll buy that," Jack nods. (Oh, please! As if he has any say in the matter!) To change the subject, each of them politely asks the other how things are in general, and each politely answers things are fine. Then Joey asks Jack how he feels about Abby's death.
He replies that though he knows how morbid it sounds, he can't help but think that he and Abby kissed at Dawson's birthday party. "Which means that I'm probably the last person she ever kissed," he muses. (What, this is what he comes up with? All the other characters debate religion and relive personal experiences with death and go a little insane, and all Jack can think about is that he was the last to play tonsil hockey with the deceased? Gee, that's really deep of him, isn't it?)
"Well," Joey sighs with a smile, "at least she went out with a bang." A second later, she bursts into a fit of giggles, realizing what she just said (personally, I didn't find it that amusing). "No ... I can't believe I said that!" "I can't either!" Jack joins in her laughter. Joey muffles something that sounds suspiciously like "oh shit" as she buries her face into her hands, still giggling.
The camera switches from Joey and Jack's silliness to a morose and somber looking Dawson, who is in his bedroom reviewing "Creek Daze" film footage of Abby on his laptop (an Apple laptop, I might add. Yay, Macintosh!).
"I'm sorry if I threaten you and your safety net, but contrary to popular belief, I am not trying to ruin your life, and I am trying so hard not to do that," Abby's character, Kim, whines on the video screen. (hmph ... art imitating (TV-world) life ...)
Dawson's concentration is punctuated by a surprise visit from Pacey. Breaking his engrossment with his movie, Dawson asks Pacey what's up. "I don't really know," Pacey begins a little anxiously. "Mrs. Morgan asked Andie to give a eulogy extolling Abby's virtues."
Dawson laughs derisively. "God, how do you speak glowingly about a girl who rides to school on a broomstick?" he asks rhetorically. Pacey explains his frustration with the situation -- he's trying hard to set it all straight for Andie, but he has no control over this. "I know what you mean," Dawson sighs. "That's why I'm here." He, too, is trying to make sense of it all.
"It must be kind of surreal to edit a movie in which one of your leading ladies is no longer," Pacey comments. The two turn their attention back to the screen, where Abby repeats the earlier line, but loses her composure and stern tone at the end of it, falling completely out of character. "I'm sorry," she says to the camera, "I can't help it!" Gesturing to the back of the other actress's head (Sammy, played by Devon, played by Rachael Leigh Cooke), Abby laughs. "She's got food in her teeth!"
Speaking of food, over at the Ryans', Grams is busy putting the finishing touches on dinner when Jen staggers in the door and takes a sniff of Grams' culinary delights. Grams, in turn, takes a sniff of Jen and her smile rapidly fades into a frown. "Have you been drinking again" Mrs. Ryan demands of her granddaughter.
"Not only have I been drinking," Jen slurs back, "but I'm drunk out of my mind." Understandably, Grams is upset. "Jennifer, don't do this to yourself," she implores. "Don't mask your grief with alcohol! It won't kill your pain, this drinking, it will only make things worse."
"Oh, come on," Jen snorts. "Worse than what?" Grams urges her to think of the good times she and Abby shared. "She'd want you to remember her that way," Grams says gently, trying to be understanding.
"Are you kidding?" Jen stares at her incredulously. "Well, then you obviously don't know Abby, because Abby is probably down there with Beelzebub, doing tequila shooters and laughing at all of us." Jen gives a small, almost mocking laugh, which Grams again tries to temper with reason and compassion. "You have to believe that Abby is in God's hands now, and that he has a special place in his kingdom for the children."
Again, Grams' good intentions completely miss their mark. "God's got a five-bedroom beach condo in Maui for the dead kids?" Jen asks sarcastically. That's it, three strikes and Grams patience is as dead as, well, Abby. "Jennifer --" she begins.
But Jen's not about to let Grams start on yet another touchy-feely religious rampage. "For the last time, Grams, there ... is .... no ... God. And there is no heaven, and there is no peace, and there is no hope. The only truth that I know is pain. So you can just keep your Sunday School fables to yourself because they make me puke!" shouts Jen.
That's it, Grams has had enough. "Does it give you so much pleasure to shock and offend me?" she demands. "I am trying to be understanding, but you insist on disobeying my rules and polluting my house with your disrespect and blasphemy!"
"I guess you're finally sick of me, huh?" Jen sneers. "I guess your infinite patience and compassion aren't as infinite as we thought! You know, if I can't just be myself and speak my mind, then maybe I should just move out!" Jen storms out of the room, with poor Grams hollering after her.
>From the conflict at the Ryan household, we move to the harmony at the Potter residence. She and her father are sharing a quiet breakfast -- she deep in thought while he shovels food into his mouth ravenously. Suddenly, Mr. Potter clues in to the fact that his youngest daughter has been mute during the meal. "What're you thinking about?" he asks gently. "I've been trying to remember mom, and I can't get a clear picture of her in my head," Joey says softly. "It's the scariest thing, it's like she's slowly fading away and ... do you know what I mean?"
"When I was in prison, I missed your mother," Mr. Potter confesses. "And the loss combined with the guilt ... it was almost too much for me." He pauses a moment before continuing. "But I look at you, and I know she's still here. You are so much like your mother. She was tough and independent and funny. So funny ... in the exact same way you're funny. Stubborn ... oh, was she stubborn! You'd tell her the sky was blue, she'd say it was green ..." Joey smiles at her father's reminiscing as he finishes his trip down memory lane. "So, she's not gone," he smiles back at his daughter. "She lives on, in you. And that comforts me to no end."
Andie is finding comfort too, in the form of Pacey, who is making a last-ditch effort to talk her out of delivering the eulogy. "It's only a few hours til the funeral and I have no idea what I'm gonna say," she laments. Pacey tells her to make something up, like "Abby was a wonderful person and she'll be deeply missed blah blah blah blah blah ..."
Andie is appalled. "You want me to lie?" she asks, horrified. Pacey sighs and suggests Andie tell the mourners the truth, then -- that Abby was a "hideous abomination and the world is better off without her." "Right," Andie replies sarcastically, "and watch her mother have a heart attack and collapse into the aisle. God Pacey, what am I gonna do?"
"I'll give the speech," Pacey decides firmly. "You would do that for me?" says Andie incredulously, truly surprised and touched he would make this sort of sacrifice for her. "Andie, I would do anything to keep you from having a nervous breakdown," Pacey sighs, to which Andie defensively replies she isn't about to have a nervous breakdown. "No," Pacey sighs again, "I'm about to have the nervous breakdown living vicariously through you."
His words give Andie pause for thought, and it suddenly hits home how neurotically she's been behaving. "Seriously?" she asks gingerly, but Pacey just laughs tiredly by way of response. Andie exhales deeply. "Look, Pacey ... I know what it's like to care deeply about someone who has the propensity to be mentally unhinged, and I don't want to be that to you."
But once again, her knight in shining armour comes galloping gallantly to her side. "Andie, what am I supposed to do? Just sit back and watch you agonize?" Pacey says wearily, but with a touch of frustration. "If you're in distress, how can I help but to come to your rescue?"
Though she appreciates the offer, Andie doesn't want the help. "If I'm drowning in the ocean, yes, throw me a lifeline," she says quietly. "But don't let our roles become permanently etched in stone -- I mean, me the helpless lunatic and you the hero on horseback. I can take care of myself." Pacey is doubtful, but listens silently to Andie's proclamation. "I'm gonna deliver the speech," she decides. "I'll think of something."
Finally, Abby's 15 minutes of fame arrive, albeit posthumously. Capeside's little white chapel is packed to the rafters with the curious, the respectful and the downright hypocritical -- quite a turnout for the town's nastiest resident. A white casket adorned with flowers is front and centre near the alter, while a large portrait of Abby, wearing white and looking deceptively angelic, perches on its right.
"It's not too late to duck out of here," Pacey suggests, offering a last-ditch alternative to Andie. "I'm gonna do this if it kills me," she stubbornly replies. "Well, I guess we could just slip you in the coffin with Abby," Pacey jokes, and receives a dirty look for his efforts.
Just then, Joey enters the chapel, wearing a very pretty black dress. She spots Dawson sitting alone and goes over to him (why he isn't sitting with Pacey and Andie, I don't know, but anyway ...). "Hey," he says softly. "You made it." Joey slips into the pew beside him. "Just ... hold my hand," she smiles at him awkwardly. Dawson obliges, looking at her very tenderly.
Jen, meanwhile, is sitting across the aisle with Jack, when her Grams approaches her. "The good Samaritan of Capeside," she mutters, looking at her grandmother scornfully. "Jennifer," Grams whispers, "I lost a lot of sleep last night, and I do hope we can avoid ugly scenes like last night in the future. I want you to know, I forgive you." Grams is very calm and serene about this last statement, which serves to infuriate Jen. "I'm not looking for your forgiveness, Grams," Jen hisses. "I'm looking for your understanding, and that's something you've never been able to provide."
Before Grams can answer, however, the minister begins the service. The camera slowly pans up the aisle as he starts to speak. "We are here today to remember the life of Abigail Morgan. But before we begin, I would like to invite those of you who wish to share your memories of Abby to come forward."
No one moves. Even though practically everyone in the chapel has their own personal memories of Abby, none of them are good, and certainly none of them are fit to be repeated at her funeral service with her mother present. Shots of Joey, Dawson, Pacey, Andie, and Jack are shown, each shifting uncomfortably in his or her seat and remaining silent, as Mrs. Morgan looks around desperately.
Jen breaks the silence. Looking around, she stands and walks purposefully to the front of the chapel and across to the highest pulpit I have ever seen in my life. From her lofty perch, she gazes down at the assembled masses, beams of sunlight catching her face. She looks pretty, and pretty somber too. Jen exhales deeply before beginning.
"My name is Jen Lindley." She pauses, trying to find the right words. "And I was friends with Abby ... as much as anybody could be, because Abby had a toxic personality that bordered on radioactive." The crowd exchanges looks and gasps, although Mrs. Morgan seems surprisingly unfazed by Jen's assessment of her late daughter.
"Abby could be cruel," Jen continues. "And Abby could be spiteful, and Abby could certainly be petty. She spent her days mischievously stirring up trouble and creating calamity and generally taking pleasure in other people's pain." As Jen speaks, Joey looks startled, Pacey looks surprised, Dawson looks shocked, and Andie looks stunned.
"You know in Sunday school, they teach us that God made man in His image. Well, if God made Abby in His own image, then what does that say about God?" The camera cuts to Grams, who looks like she's going to have a coronary upon hearing this. "That has always been such a mystery to me," Jen carries on. "I mean, what sort of deity creates a world that is so full of suffering and so full of tragedy?" Now it's the minister's turn to look stricken and upset.
But Jen isn't finished yet, not by a long shot. Those "ugly scenes" Grams wanted to avoid? Well, Jen has a captive audience now, and they're all in store for one of the ugliest scenes of all. "Abby taught me a lot," Jen says. "That girl taught me how to do a tequila shooter with one hand behind my back ... and she taught me how to live my life according to my own set of values and not to just follow the crowd in hopes of winning some phantom popularity contest." Mrs. Morgan is shown next, wearing a jumbled mass of emotions on her face, not knowing quite what to make of it all.
Grams' lips purse into a thin red line as Jen concludes her speech. "But most of all, what's most important, is that Abby taught me the sadistic nature of our God. And while that knowledge is disturbing, it's true, and it's real. And in a world which is so saturated with phoniness and with lies -- for that small amount, for that little bit of honesty, I will always be grateful to her."
Joey and Dawson exchange an uneasy look. Pacey closes his eyes. Tears stream down Mrs. Morgan's cheeks. Realizing she may have gone too far, Jen walks slowly back to her seat, every eye in the chapel burning into her back. Grams is on fire, and as Jen sits down amid a roomful of whispers and murmurs, she stands up and walks out without a backwards glance.
Andie looks over at Mrs. Morgan, who surveys the room hopefully, praying someone will volunteer for clean-up duty after the impact of Jen's emotional hurricane. With a last look at Pacey, Andie slowly stands and approaches the pulpit.
"There are people who give me comfort in my life," Andie begins hoarsely. "When the going gets rough, as it invariably does, I can count on them as a shoulder to cry on, and they will pick me up in their arms and tell me that everything is going to be all right. I am so thankful for those people ... they are priceless."
Jen bites her lip in shame and Jack looks at the floor as his sister continues to speak. "There is another group of people who are just as important and just as priceless. They are the people who challenge me. Who push me to my breaking points and force me to muster courage I never thought I had."
At this point, Jen looks ready to burst into tears, but Andie perserveres on. "Abby was one of those people. In her own, truth-telling way, she gave me strength. I am a stronger woman because of her. Stronger than I ever thought I could be." Dawson grips Joey's hand, and he looks at her meaningfully, applying Andie's words to Joey's situation.
"She gave me that gift," Andie finishes, "She was one of a kind. There is no one like her, and she will always hold a special spot in my heart." Short, simple and truthful -- Andie managed to pull it off. Pacey smiles proudly at his girlfriend from his seat in the congregation.
After the service comes the interment at the graveside, where a cluster of about 40 mourners, clad entirely in black, gather round Abby's coffin. Andie, then Joey, then Jen silently place yellow carnations on the casket, as the minister drones on about ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Mrs. Morgan cries, supported by family members. The crowd thins out slowly as the camera intersperses several fade-out shots of people leaving in groups, until nothing is left at all but the flower-covered casket.
Further down the cemetery, Dawson and Joey are walking. "I was editing my movie yesterday, and I kept on watching Abby's footage over and over," Dawson tells her. "And it hit me just how fleeting life is. You know? And, um ... I realized ... I don't want to die with unused life in my banks. I don't want to go to my grave regretting what could have been if I'd only taken action. And maybe this is the wrong time to say this to you, but Joey ... I am so happy about what happened between us the other night."
His confession is met by absolute silence. Alarmed by the lack of response, he begins to babble to fill the void. "I could just keep talking til you say something, but usually the more I talk, the more chances I'm going to screw it up, so --" Joey cuts him off with a kiss. "Of course I'm happy," she smiles softly. "But right now, I have to go someplace." Dawson nods. "Do you think you could walk me there?" Joey asks. "Absolutely," he replies quietly.
Outside the chapel, Pacey compliments Andie on a job well done. "You know, I have to admit, you had me worried these last few days, McPhee. But as per usual, you managed to pull it off with flying colours." He smiles broadly at her. Andie replies she thinks she needed the experience, because it brought her closer to Tim. Seeing Jen sitting alone by the grave, Andie excuses herself to go and speak to her.
"Andie," Jen says softly through her tears, as the girl approaches. There are long pauses between her sentences, which are punctuated with tears. "I cannot apologize enough. Abby's death was not your fault ... it was mine." Andie expresses her disbelief, but Jen is adamant. "I invited her out, I got her drunk. I could have saved her." Andie tries to appease Jen and take away her guilt by insisting Jen did everything she could -- that the water was rough and the current strong. "I saw her in the water," Jen cries. "She was so scared ..."
"Don't think about that, okay?" Andie chides her gently. Again, though, Jen is besieged by survivor's guilt. "Because I'm weak, because I couldn't accept the blame, I had to deflect it onto everyone else ... onto you, on to my Grams." The thought of Grams triggers fresh memories in Jen's mind. "Oh God ... and that speech. That speech! What was I thinking?"
Andie tries to soothe Jen. "Look," she begins. "I'm a people pleaser, and sometimes in order to succeed in that, you have to be phony. Abby was the exact opposite. She put her truth above everything. It was a memorial for Abby and that's what you did. You were just being truthful to her spirit."
"Sometimes I just don't think it's appropriate to speak your truth," Jen laughs derisively through her tears. "Sometimes it's a better idea to just shut up." Speaking of speaking the truth, Andie mentions to Jen that Abby kept a diary, and that it was "pretty nasty." "If her mom finds it, she's going to be pretty devastated," Andie remarks, as the pair of them look down at the ground, thinking.
Joey and Dawson, too, are deep in thought. Silently, they walk across to a certain spot in the graveyard. Dawson stands aside as Joey continues a little farther. He stares at her, while she stares at a marker in the ground which reads "Lillian Josephine Potter July 8, 1952 to September 12, 1995."
Kneeling down, Joey cries softly as she lays flowers beside the marker. Dawson walks over, placing a hand gently on her shoulder as she stands up and leans against him. "I hope wherever she is, she's happy," Joey says through her tears. "She is," Dawson replies. "She's happy. She's looking down on you." Joey takes comfort in his words and manages a small smile. "She's very happy," Dawson says gently, as he kisses her forehead. Joey rests her head on his shoulder and sighs, smiling and crying simultaneously.
Over at the Ryans' home, Jen arrives to find her bags packed and her belongings boxed up on the porch. "Grams?" she says disbelievingly. Grams is positively livid with her granddaughter, and makes no effort to hide her anger. "How could you, Jennifer?" she says with cold fury.
Jen cannot believe her eyes. "You packed up all my stuff." It's a statement more than a question, a stunned reaction to the sight before her. Grams ignores the comment, but opts to try to explain the method behind her apparent madness. "I went to that funeral today to try to give you some support and to try to rectify some of the damage in our fragile relationship, only to find you heartlessly thumbing your nose at me. In a house of God, no less!"
"Grams," Jen pleads. "That speech wasn't for you ... that was for Abby, and I regret it, I do, and I know that it was wrong and I'm sorry that I offended your beliefs --"
But Grams barrels through Jen's apology like a steam roller. "This is not about my beliefs, or free speech, or any other philosophical nonsense," she shouts. "This is about the truth. And the truth is, you deliberately tried to wound me in that chapel. You decided to take out all your pain and rage at the world on me!"
"Wait, Grams! Wait!" Jen begs, trying to make amends, but again, Grams is unrelentless. "You want understanding?" she roars. "How about a little understanding in return? How about a little understanding for me? Not just for my beliefs, but for me! Your grandmother, who loves you! Who would do anything for you! Who would die for you!"
Grams is shaking with rage at this point, and Jen is horrified. "Wait! Grandma, just listen!" she implores, but it's no good. "You should be living with someone else," Grams shouts. "Someone you respect, and clearly, I am not that person! All the time you waste rebelling against me will get you nowhere! So, while it pains me more than you will ever know, Jennifer, I want you to move out. Find somewhere else to live." And with that, Grams closes the door on her granddaughter. On either side, both cry uncontrollably.
Cut to the Morgan household, where Andie knocks on the door. It's unlocked, so she enters the home, calling out for Mrs. Morgan. No answer. "Hello?" she tries again, and again, there is no answer. Andie slips upstairs silently and lets herself into Abby's bedroom, where she finds Abby's journal on her dresser. As Andie walks to the bed to sit and read some more of its contents, she catches a glimpse of Abby in a mirror, gazing back out at her with a cold smile. But when Andie whirls around quickly to face what she sees, she finds herself all alone in the bedroom, and she turns paler and whiter than Abby's ghost itself.
Fade to black ...