The Death of the Invisible and of the Ferocious

I have been wanting to make this post for a long time, and tonight felt right. For the first time in a while I have been able to think about this topic and not get teary eyed or let emotions run my thoughts. Young deaths are never easy to talk about, especially two young women with opposite personalities but fearless hearts. The bully and the mocked, the popular and the unseen, a death drawn out and a sudden death. These two young girls, because girls they were, could not have been more unlike yet their deaths were equally tragic. And my role in each of their lives were uncannily similar, so much so that if I think of one I cannot help but think of the other.

Cassandra Ruggiero was the mocked, the forgotten, and the pushed aside. A year older than me, she was often unable to clearly speak her thoughts and her uncomfortable demeanor attracted bullies to her. We rode the bus together in high school. At first I could only watch on as the "leader" of the bus, another girl her age, mocked her and encouraged her entourage to do the same. Each day, I would move a little bit closer until I was sitting in the seat next to her. We started talking like any other teenagers would: movies, music, the generic topics, until I finally started sitting next to her. At that time, I was a very insecure person but fortunately the bullies in the back had not caught onto that. I was seen as neutral ground and provided a small shield for Cassandra. I never was able to directly stick up for her, but each day I sat next to her, the bullying began to cease. Unfortunately, I was only able to use my form of protection on the bus and many afternoons after walking through the torment in the hallways, our bus ride home was silent. I remember her once coming on the bus with a black eye. I never found out who gave it to her.

Beth Jones was rough around the edges, and also a year older than me. She was a leader, the fighter, and a fiercely loyal friend. She was that girl you didn't want to mess with, yet somehow everyone seemed to get sucked up into her world. She was never known for her grades but she was a part of the dance team at my high school. My first involvement with her was due to a scuffle between her and a friend of mine. My friends and I, including the one Beth had "a problem with," were at the movies one night. Beth and her gang happened to be there as well. While the entire theater was loud the entire night, especially the crowd of students in front of my row who we were not associated with, Beth chose us to pick on us after the movie was over. "Thanks for ruining our movie, bitch" and various choice phrases were directed toward my friend. We had to walk past her as we walked out of the movie theater, and tired of the continued harassment, I turned to her and told her to shut up. That is all I said: "shut up." While I stood there facing her, calm and collected, she had all she could take and reached out and backhanded me across the neck. Attempting to hide the lack of breath and panic that overcame me, I turned away and walked off with my friends. A friend of mine held my arm, and he waited with me outside as Beth left the theater, still throwing out threats and names. I stood as calmly as I could and my friend complimented me, saying that I did a great thing for my friend, as we waited for our parents to pick us up.

 

A poem found after a quick search of Cassandra's name.

Several months passed that Cassandra and I sat on the bus together, and our conversations passed movies and music, books and friends. We began to talk about the insecurities, the mocking, the bullying. I didn't know how to respond or how to help her. She was so awkward and such an easy target. How do you tell someone to change their personality when the problem is not them, it is the people who are hurting them? I couldn't do it. I told her to ignore it, I told her to not respond to their threats and their taunts because it only fed the fire. I told her to find something else to be passionate about. Eventually, I told her about 6:22. 6:22 was a young adult worship service that took place every Friday night while I was in high school. I encouraged her every week to go, and finally she started attending around the time I stopped going. I didn't watch her journey through the service, but I know that she did have one. She became involved with the Bible club at school and found people who were nice to her and befriended her. While the mocking didn't stop, she found others who experienced the same torment and were able to empathize with her.

Not long after Beth slapped me at the movie theater, she attacked me over AOL chat as well. She laid out a long, winded rant about how my friend was a terrible person and I was one too for sticking up for her. I decided that I was going to be much more confident than I ever had been at that point.

I told her that I did not care what she thought about me because I was going somewhere in life and she never would.

That statement broke something down in her, and her responses came more jagged and sad after that. She began to defend herself. I was out of my element, I had become the bully. Realizing that I had no purpose to be mean to her, to bully her, I began to dive into her life. I praised her dancing ability, and when she saw that I was on her side, I asked her why she was really so angry at my friend. She began to crack open to me and our conversations changed from ones of anger to ones of mutual understanding. She smiled at me in the hallways, if not totally bringing me on as one of her friends, and we would talk over AOL messenger. I began to encourage her school studies, reminding her that while dancing was certainly a commendable pursuit, it is dependent on injuries and other life events as well. It wasn't quite as likely to pay the bills. She would tell me about her progress in school and life, and slowly the bullying of my friend stopped entirely. We grew apart and I soon forgot about our conversations and she likely forgot about me too.

Cassandra was killed in a car accident on her way to a 6:22 service on Friday, March 3rd, 2006 at age 16.

Beth passed away September 22nd, 2009 after a several month long struggle with a failing heart. She was 20 years old.

I served a brief role in each of their lives as the adviser, the friend-but-not-friend. We never hung out, and they never cracked into my life, and yet I served as a diary for each of them if even for a brief moment in time. I even feel connected to each of their deaths: the girl I encouraged to go to 6:22 and the girl I told was never going to go anywhere in life. Yet, Cassandra died on her way to doing something she loved and Beth lived a life more filled with love and loyal friends than many who die in old age. My life is more fulfilled and meaningful because of them, and not a week goes by that I do not think of Cassandra, the invisible, and of Beth, the ferocious. Death makes us all the same, no matter how different we were in life.

Rest in peace Cassandra & Beth