Hey Jubes

Hey Jubes

by Wye Knott (aka Maureen)

Disclaimer: Marvel owns everyone in this story. Phooey. I'm not making any money off of this, unfortunantly. I like money, I like spending it even more, especially when the money isn't mine. "spoken" written


Hey Jubes, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.


Hey Jubes, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.


And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.


Hey Jubes, don't let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.


So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.


Hey Jubes, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,

Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.
Da da da da da da, da da da, hey Jude...

--the Paul McCartney & John Lennon of the Beatles (with a slight modification of the lyrics)

The brightest of the bright, the super nova of all suns, you were more than sunshine, gel. You were energy incarnate. More than pure sunshine, you were the energy Einstein was talking about in his equation, E=MC2. I was the dark, black hole of angst. I am the resident evil of Generation X, pardon the pun gel. As you put it in describing me an' Paige, the Ivory & the Ebony.

I'm blacker than coal inside, gel, but you; you had life in front of you. You had everything, looks, brains, and talent. You could've done anything. You could beat anything; no matter how dire the situation you were always upbeat and cheerful. Nothing bad could happen to you, it just rolled off that horrid yellow jacket like water off a duck.

Hell, it was contagious. It was rubbing off onto me. I tried to avoid it; I tried to stay depressed. I tried. You were too cheerful. When-I-was-with-the-X-Men-Lee. No one saw how much you were hurting. Not even me.

Ironic isn't it? I couldn't see myself in you, I see myself in almost everyone else. The girls at the Stop 'N' Rob, Paige, my sunshine, Cassidy even. But not you.

Gods, gel, you don't even know half of what you did to me. Oh, not directly, but you forced me to look inside myself, and examine who I was and where I was going. Who I wanted to be. I'm not sure if I love or hate you for it either.

You never judged me by my looks, either. True, neither did anyone else, but for you it was different. You didn't make it an issue by ignoring it, you just didn't care. You saw, and you didn't pretend nothing was wrong. You didn't recoil in fear of me either. Commendable if nothing else, it took me nearly 2 years before I could look in a mirror without wondering who that hideous facade was staring back at me.

"So, Sparky" is what you said to me, "walking Band-Aid" is how you described me. No more, no less. An immediate friend and teammate. Like you called Paige "Hayseed" or Monet "Miss Perfect". Gods, I will miss you.

I will miss you chasing after Ev for his potato crisps (or whatever food he had that you wanted) or harassing Paige for studying too much. I will miss your verbal spars with Monet, even though they annoyed me to no end. I will miss you bugging me when I am in the middle of a song just because you want to listen to me compose. That's the quietest you've ever been, I think, aside from sleeping.

God seemed to have abandoned us both gel. You never spoke of religion and I tried desperately to be without any. But we both knew, deep in the recesses of our hearts that we both would answer, eventually, to some higher authority in the end. Want to know a secret? I'm Catholic. Not the earth shattering revelation that you were expecting, was it gel? Think about it. Us Brits are supposed to be Anglican. Catholicism was outlawed in England several centuries ago. True, we now have a freedom of religion, but devout, true Catholics are extremely rare. Don't tell anyone. I was devout before I found out that I was a mutant, I even have a bible hidden in my room.

I know everyone is asking why, but I know. I've been on that fateful precipice between life and death. And I gleefully jumped into that abyss. My powers wouldn't let me die. I couldn't. Now, I think it is some bizarre cosmic sign. Unfortunately the sign is written in Tagalog and I can't read it. I am no better than you, trying to kill myself. You simply did a better job than I did.

You never were good at school. You didn't care about it. You were both street-smart like Angelo and X-smart like Paige tries to be. I'm book smart, it offered a stability that my life lacked. I'm not street smart, despite growing up in London. I think I am, I try to be... but I'm not. My teenage years were wrenched away from me, like your childhood was from you. You were forced to take the bitter pill of reality, we both were. You on the streets, me through being ostracized and beaten. I forgot my street smarts; you pushed your book smarts to the farthest recesses of your mind.

You were never stupid gel. Never. You were smart in your own way, and I think that we all knew that. Even Sean and Emma. That's why they let you get away with it. We all knew you weren't dumb. That hyperactivity was a shield. We were more than happy to let you use it too. We were wrong in that respect and we failed you.

You were so kind and compassionate, to Penny, to Leech and Artie. To everyone you met. You rarely had a bad word to say about anyone, and when you did it was meant in fun with no offense intended. None was taken either. The boys will miss you, Leech and Artie, I mean. You were their big sister in a way. They love you, always will too. Penny misses you, I know she does. She keeps looking into your bedroom window looking for you. You aren't there.

Yesterday, Paige and Monet packed your things up. They will be stored with Emma's things in one of those fancy "climate controlled" storage places that you can rent. This way if the school is destroyed we will still have your belongings. Some will be sent to the X-Men. Your uniforms from them, pictures. They will be framed and saved with the others. We're framing many of your pictures too. The 'teaches' are dedicating part of a wall to you and to others who die for the cause. Your pictures will be hung there.

Penny watched while they packed everything, tears streaming down their faces the entire time. The boys and I carried the boxes out. A group effort. I think she knows you aren't coming back. She won't eat any apples right now. Not even if I give them to her. She is grieving in her own way.

I know you would want us to go on though. To smile and be cheerful for you. I'm going to try. Honest, gel. I can't lie to the dead. I can't promise more than that though. I'm thinking of taking up the sign language classes that everyone has been urging on me. Then I'll be able to give them a proper "leave me alone". For you, so I can talk just as fast as you and annoy everyone.

You showed me, with your death, unfortunately, that there is a life still worth living. Even for me. Thank you. You will be missed, you know. Even by me. As if that weren't obvious by now. I suppose I never realized how much I loved you until you left. I don't think anyone appreciated you until you were gone. We were wrong to do that. I could give the excuse that I was too caught up in my depression. I would be right too. I will regret it for the rest of my life. I was too caught up in myself. I'm going to go to counseling for my depression gel. It's something I am going to beat.

I made a list of all your CDs, I'm going to buy them, even those infernal Spices Girls or Brittney Spears CDs, which you loved to torture everyone with. Although I don't mind Garbage. Maybe I'll blare it out at some ungodly hour in deaf-school. Not like anyone will hear it or care. I'm going to compose something for you. Give me a few days, I'll have a billboard top 10 hit. I'll call it 'Jubes' or "Sparkler" in honor of you.

I can hear Paige in the kitchen with Tristen, they're a good couple. I still love her, but, que sera, sera. What will be, will be. No sense in me beating myself up over it, even if I still love her. Part of love is allowing the ones you love to be happy, over your own happiness if need be. She's happy with Tristen. I feel like shit because of it, but that is love for you. Maybe one day. And if not, well, we had an interesting "non- relationship".

I'm writing this in the recreation room, not our rec room, but the one that everyone uses. Even the normal kids. They're giving me wide berth, they know not to mess with me right now. I over heard a kid talking about you, saying you couldn't hack it, that you deserved to die. I beat him up pretty good, "mute psychopath goes on a rampage to avenge his dead teammate, film at 11"! He was expelled, that effectively shut everyone else up too. I'm supposed to be restricted to grounds for the weekend, but Sean's driving me to look at the deaf-school in a little while. But even if I had to stay here, it would be worth it. I have things to do anyways, homework (everyone thinks I just sit in my basement cave and watch TV), write your song, watch TV. MST3K is having a marathon on the sci-fi channel this weekend.

Well, I don't really know what else to write. You will be missed is what I'm trying to say, I guess. You will be missed.

Jonothon Evan Starsmore


"Jono, lad where're ye going?" Sean called out as he watched his student open the front door of the school to the harsh rain.

Jono pointed at the door and gave the headmaster a withering look. Wasn't it obvious, he thought?

"It's pouring rain out lad, cats and dogs. Ye dinna need ta go out there. We're leaving in a few minutes anyways, to go see Beverly School." Sean replied, trying to figure out why anyone would want to be outside at a time like this. Of course, he realized with a start, that this is Jono and he was rarely predictable.

Jono held the letter up, wrapped in plastic-wrap to protect it from the elements. Through the plastic the word Jubilee was clearly visible. Cassidy sighed and waved him out, knowing now that nothing short of armageddon, and perhaps not even that, would stop him. This was personal. All the kids close to Jubilee, all the members of Generation X, had gone and spoken to her grave, giving them a sense of finality. Jono never had. He couldn't. Now he would. Now he too, could begin healing.


Jono stood out in the rain, not bothering to get an umbrella or a rain jacket. He wore his old jeans and t-shirt, the ones he had worn on the plane to America, so many months ago. His customary jacket was in the front foyer, staying dry. She would understand.

Silently he stood there, for what seemed to be hours, although it was merely a few minutes, before placing the letter in the box cemented with the headstone. Everyone had put something of importance in it, Jubilee's favorite earrings, her Doom game, her bamf doll that she had 'inherited' after Illyana Rasputin died of Legacy. Now Jono added his letter to the top.

Before he left he reached into his pocket, pulling out a rosary. He bent on his knees with the rosary wrapped around his hand and crossed himself. Then he touched his hand to his bandages where his mouth should've been and touched the headstone before leaving.

Sean stood in the window of his office and watched the young man, never believing had he not seen it. The boy was at least semi-religious. Sean never would have guessed it.

Jono trudged back to school dripping wet. Come on, he motioned, taking the towel the older man handed him. Picking up the bag that he had left on the stairs, Jono rummaged through it pulling a white Xavier's t-shirt out. He pulled his wet shirt off and put the Xavier's shirt on, holding up his pad of paper. On it was written, Time for a change. Lead the way to Beverly.


Author's note: This is in response to Kaylee's (I think) challenge to write a story under a pseudonym that no one knows to see if anyone recognizes who you are and to get some genuine feedback and criticisms on your writing without infamy factoring into people's perceptions,

Beverly School for the Deaf is an actual school in Massachusetts and is not being used with permission. I ran across it on the internet while doing some research and decided to use it in this story.

copyright 1999 Wyoming Knott

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