Bearer of Bad News
It's kind of stupid to worry about social circles when you have more important things to think about. When the plane first crashed the matter of utmost importance was survival. That's it. I thought it was a simple enough concept to grasp but apparently others didn't see it that way. Many stood around waiting to be told what to do. You didn't. You were one of the very few who was willing to help, right from the start.
Granted, at first I saw you as a hindrance rather than a help. For a lifeguard, your skills at cpr were atrocious at best. I remember telling you that you needed to give your license back when I pushed you out of the way and stepped in to do the job myself. I'm sorry. I know I'm not the best with words sometimes, as you soon found out. You were doing the best with what you knew. Then you asked me if you should get a pen for "one of those throat things". I responded with sarcasm. Then to my surprise you actually ran off to go find me one. I was glad when you did, it got you out of my hair and out of the way.
I spent what seems like an eternity running around tending to injuries and making sure everyone was ok, like it was my responsibility. In a way it was, because not many had stepped up to the plate to help. You did, but I'd immediately dismissed you as some kind of joke and completely forgot about you. It wasn't until later after the initial chaos had died that I remembered what you said earlier. You came and found me as I was resting, offering me a fistful of pens and saying that you didn't know which one would work best. Even if I did want to do an emergency tracheotomy, by then it was far too late. It was in that moment when I knew you were earnest. You truly wanted to do what you could to contribute, and that was good enough for me.
To everyone else I was Superman. I was the one expected to know what to do in every situation, but you never once let me take on all the responsibility myself. If I was Superman, you were Captain America, as Shannon so aptly named you. Sometimes your desire to help caused you to become angry with me, so many times you insisted that you could and I said no. I understand why you yelled. I don't blame you. Nobody enjoys hearing someone else tell them they have limitations, however true or untrue they may be. You deserved explanations, not orders, and again, I'm sorry.
Still, after every time I was firm with you, you eventually returned offering to do what you could. I saw it as a bit of a prodigal son scenario, that I had all the answers all along. It was much more simple than that. You treated me as an equal when no one else would. I can't express how much of a relief that was. Thank you so much. You wouldn't let me be your savior. Not even...
[Jack's words catch in his throat as he looks down onto the mound of dirt marked with a cross formed by two sticks tied together. His eyes moisten and he shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. When he continues his voice is shaky and devoid of it's usual confidence.]
You were my friend, Boone. From that day when you were the only one willing to help me, you were the very first person who I could willingly and proudly call a friend. It was so rare. And still is. I'm so, so sorry.
[He stops again, unable to hold back the tears that had been successfully kept at bay until now. His right hand releases from his pocket and moves upward to touch his face, thumb and forefinger covering closed eyes. He stays like this for a full minute, the only sound breaking the silence is one of waves lapping against the shore in the distance. Finally he returns his hand back to his pocket.]
If you were here you'd probably kick my ass for saying that. [Jack gives a snort of laughter through the tears] You hated it when I apologized. You didn't even let me do it at the end. It's something I know I won't be able to forget. You never blamed me, not once. I wish that wasn't the lasting image I have of you, but anything less courageous than that moment would be an insult.
I don't know how long I can put off telling you what I came here to say. Shannon's gone too. She was killed - shot by a woman named Ana Lucia. [pause] I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, she's probably right there beside you filling you in on all the gossip that's happened since you've been away. We buried her next to you. There was never a question about that. It was only right for you to be with your sister. She will be missed, just as you are.
It's all so unreal. I keep half expecting to see you two coming around the corner bickering over that damn chocolate bar she refused to eat. I don't understand why it was such a big deal, but then again, I've never had a sister. Or a brother. I guess it's just one of those things that Jack Shephard just won't get, yeah? Well, that and how to tell a good joke. I still have that joke book you gave me, by the way. I think it's the way I deliver them rather than the jokes themselves. No one ever laughs.
[looks down at the mound again, struggling to form words] Hurley said he'd visit you tomorrow. I think he's going to bring you something. Probably something from the hatch which you...
[Abruptly turning away, Jack faces the opposite direction, unable to look anymore at the friend he couldn't save. His breathing is ragged and he does his best to regulate it, only halfway succeeding. Without turning back he manages to mutter his parting words.] I'll see you next Friday, ok? [Taking a breath he inhales deeply before letting it out slowly, taking his hands from his pockets and begins the walk back to camp.]
Granted, at first I saw you as a hindrance rather than a help. For a lifeguard, your skills at cpr were atrocious at best. I remember telling you that you needed to give your license back when I pushed you out of the way and stepped in to do the job myself. I'm sorry. I know I'm not the best with words sometimes, as you soon found out. You were doing the best with what you knew. Then you asked me if you should get a pen for "one of those throat things". I responded with sarcasm. Then to my surprise you actually ran off to go find me one. I was glad when you did, it got you out of my hair and out of the way.
I spent what seems like an eternity running around tending to injuries and making sure everyone was ok, like it was my responsibility. In a way it was, because not many had stepped up to the plate to help. You did, but I'd immediately dismissed you as some kind of joke and completely forgot about you. It wasn't until later after the initial chaos had died that I remembered what you said earlier. You came and found me as I was resting, offering me a fistful of pens and saying that you didn't know which one would work best. Even if I did want to do an emergency tracheotomy, by then it was far too late. It was in that moment when I knew you were earnest. You truly wanted to do what you could to contribute, and that was good enough for me.
To everyone else I was Superman. I was the one expected to know what to do in every situation, but you never once let me take on all the responsibility myself. If I was Superman, you were Captain America, as Shannon so aptly named you. Sometimes your desire to help caused you to become angry with me, so many times you insisted that you could and I said no. I understand why you yelled. I don't blame you. Nobody enjoys hearing someone else tell them they have limitations, however true or untrue they may be. You deserved explanations, not orders, and again, I'm sorry.
Still, after every time I was firm with you, you eventually returned offering to do what you could. I saw it as a bit of a prodigal son scenario, that I had all the answers all along. It was much more simple than that. You treated me as an equal when no one else would. I can't express how much of a relief that was. Thank you so much. You wouldn't let me be your savior. Not even...
[Jack's words catch in his throat as he looks down onto the mound of dirt marked with a cross formed by two sticks tied together. His eyes moisten and he shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. When he continues his voice is shaky and devoid of it's usual confidence.]
You were my friend, Boone. From that day when you were the only one willing to help me, you were the very first person who I could willingly and proudly call a friend. It was so rare. And still is. I'm so, so sorry.
[He stops again, unable to hold back the tears that had been successfully kept at bay until now. His right hand releases from his pocket and moves upward to touch his face, thumb and forefinger covering closed eyes. He stays like this for a full minute, the only sound breaking the silence is one of waves lapping against the shore in the distance. Finally he returns his hand back to his pocket.]
If you were here you'd probably kick my ass for saying that. [Jack gives a snort of laughter through the tears] You hated it when I apologized. You didn't even let me do it at the end. It's something I know I won't be able to forget. You never blamed me, not once. I wish that wasn't the lasting image I have of you, but anything less courageous than that moment would be an insult.
I don't know how long I can put off telling you what I came here to say. Shannon's gone too. She was killed - shot by a woman named Ana Lucia. [pause] I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, she's probably right there beside you filling you in on all the gossip that's happened since you've been away. We buried her next to you. There was never a question about that. It was only right for you to be with your sister. She will be missed, just as you are.
It's all so unreal. I keep half expecting to see you two coming around the corner bickering over that damn chocolate bar she refused to eat. I don't understand why it was such a big deal, but then again, I've never had a sister. Or a brother. I guess it's just one of those things that Jack Shephard just won't get, yeah? Well, that and how to tell a good joke. I still have that joke book you gave me, by the way. I think it's the way I deliver them rather than the jokes themselves. No one ever laughs.
[looks down at the mound again, struggling to form words] Hurley said he'd visit you tomorrow. I think he's going to bring you something. Probably something from the hatch which you...
[Abruptly turning away, Jack faces the opposite direction, unable to look anymore at the friend he couldn't save. His breathing is ragged and he does his best to regulate it, only halfway succeeding. Without turning back he manages to mutter his parting words.] I'll see you next Friday, ok? [Taking a breath he inhales deeply before letting it out slowly, taking his hands from his pockets and begins the walk back to camp.]