I loved my mother so much.
She was a drug addict.
She was an alcoholic.
She was legally blind.
She was a schizophrenic.
But I never forgot that she loved me.
Even if she did.
All the time.
Lisa, give me the money.
It's mine.
God, it's mine. The state gives it to me.
-Who is Sam Donaldson? -Who is Sam Donaldson?
You frigging bitch! Your kids are not eating.
-Where's your heart? -Amoeba. What is amoeba?
-What is amoeba? -Where is it?
-You're in the lead all by yourself. -Lisa, give it to me.
Because there are no blood vessels in this layer of skin...
-...nutrition is supplied by a tissue-- -What is epidermis?
-What is the epidermis? -Correct.
I gave it to you.
Let go, Mom!
I gave 100 to you.
When my checks came in, I gave 100 to you, to one of you.
-To hold. One of you. -No, for us to live on!
-Every month, it's the same damn thing! -What is genus?
So you can put it in your arm. So we can starve.
It's mine.
-I didn't take it. -Give it to me!
The Oldenburg dynasty, founded by King Christian I...
-...ruled this country from 1448 to 1863. -What is Denmark?
Give it to me.
It's mine!
It's mine.
-We're hungry! -l can't! We need food, Mommy.
What the hell did you ever do for me, huh? I gave you life.
Do you want me to go out in the street and sell myself for it?
Do you want me to do that?
-You know I do that sometimes, right? -Jeanie, what are you saying?
-She doesn't need to hear that. -Oh, God!
Theater for 400.
Type of theatrical makeup whose name is found...
...in the title of an Anthony Newley musical.
-Mark. -What is greasepaint?
I need it.
Specific term for someone who claims to be pope when there already is one.
-l need it. -Antipope.
That's right. And our last clue for 1000.
I need it.
--considered Islam's second holiest.
-What is Medina? -What is Medina?
That gives you $15,200 at the end of the Double JEOPARDY! round.
But Mark, very impressive also.
-Theater for 800. -Answer:
This director died just hours before the opening of his last musical, 42nd Street.
-Who is Gower Champion? -Who is Bob Fosse?
-No. Phil. -Who is Gower Champion?
Correct.
I wanted that smile.
Oh, God, I wanted that smile so much.
I was pathetic, wasn't I?
-Mark. -What is Yugoslavia?
-Biology for 1000. -Don't take the Aqueduct!
Giving two scientific names to all living organisms was devised by this Swedish--
-Daddy! -Who is Carl Linnaeus?
-Who is Linnaeus? -Correct.
Rudolfs and Rudolphs for 200.
She's taking the Aqueduct!
What difference does it make?
-She'll get mugged! -Who cares?
Who is Rudolph Valentino?
-Daddy, she can't see, she'll get mugged. -Always a big production.
The characters in his play Hay Fever...
-...were inspired by actress Laurette-- -Who is Noel Coward?
-Good for 1000.
-l see they fixed the lights. -The muggers will break them again.
No, no.
No, you see, she's okay. See, water runs downhill.
There's no water.
No, no. Don't you know what the aqueduct is?
The aqueduct carried water to New York City.
For over 100 years, it did that...
...and then they closed it down. But now, the ghost water, right?
It carries your mother along.
-My father. -Hey, Jerry.
You could sit down on the couch and talk to my father.
-You just couldn't talk to him for long. -Hey, Jean!
He knew so much. He got all the answers right on JEOPARDY!
He was a genius. Every answer, every time.
Watch where you're going!
That's the thing.
Your parents are your gods.
I looked at them as an example of what I should find everywhere in the world.
They paid so little attention to my needs.
But then it felt like their need was so powerful...
...that it didn't make me feel hurt or angry that they didn't look into me...
...because I felt, "Okay, this just must be the human condition to be so."
And then the world came in.
You took my husband, Elizabeth. I'm going to kill you.
-No, Mommy. -I'm not your mother.
I did you a favor.
You shouldn't have tread on me.
Help me clean up. If they see this, they're gonna take us too.
-No! No! -Come on, Jeanie.
Get out of my house.
No! You're not taking me. Get out. No, no, no.
-Don't take me. I'm onto you. -No fuss now.
-What happened to the window? -She threw the cat out.
I'll set you on fire before you take me.
-Take her hands now. -Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
-Come on. -Leave me alone!
Why don't you take your medication?
Oh, she takes it. She just takes too many other things on top of it.
Okay, hit her with it right now. Let's get her down.
-This place is a mess. -What happened here?
I fell down.
-She's got a knife! -Jeanie, put the knife down.
Okay, okay.
-Where's the phone? -We don't have one.
-This woman is unfit. -No kidding.
You girls have a choice. Clean this place up. Help your mother.
-How about my father? -Oh, ignore her, she's a feminist.
-l can take you any time I want. -Lisa! Lisa!
You keep skipping school and living like filthy animals.
-Lizzie. Lizzie. -Hey, hey. Where are you going?
Come back here! Come back!
You're going to a home. You know what those homes are like.
Girls in there will beat you down, take everything you've got.
You can't have anything.
You'll have to clean bathrooms. You'll work there if you don't work here.
Back off. Back off!
It's not a show.
Got nothing better to do, huh?
Mommy?
Couldn't they see?
Anyone could see. She was in so much pain...
...and her struggle was so much on the surface, so there...
...if anyone cared to look.
She wasn't running off, being a mother to somebody else.
She just didn't have any more to give.
Mommy! Let me go!
No! No! No!
All right, hey, hey, hey.
-Something stinks. -What is that?
I was always the smelly kid in class.
Lisa stood on the bucket to shower, but Daddy laughed...
...and said she'd have to marry a doctor, she had so many expectations.
I didn't have any expectations, and so therefore, I guess, I stunk.
And I itched from lice.
And it burned between my legs.
My teachers were always telling me not to fidget...
...but my underwear--
I didn't know what to do about underwear. I just wore it until it fell apart.
All right. People.
Thank you. Recess is over.
My teeth ached.
I was hungry.
Settle! Thank you.
The teacher's words never seemed to reach me.
Words just seemed to fall on the floor.
-Give me the test. No point taking that. -I'll take it.
-You've been here three times this month. -I'll take it. It doesn't look that hard.
Oh, Liz. Stay here.
You do smell, you know?
-Doesn't your mother tell you--? -No, no.
No, it's my fault. I just forget.
Okay. Well, when you're having a shower tonight, you want to wash back here?
I've been saving some things for you.
Here.
And here. How did you do that?
You're never in school.
-l read a lot. -Yeah? What do you read?
The encyclopedia.
The lady upstairs, Eva, she found one in the dumpster.
The whole set. Well, except for R to S.
If you had asked about R to S, I would have gotten it wrong.
I was just lucky.
-Oh, Liz, you have to come to school. -Okay.
I mean it. It's ridiculous. You're too smart not to be here.
-I don't understand why you don't come. -I will.
How could I tell her that school made me sad?
I didn't know how to talk to her. I didn't know how to talk to anyone.
My house wasn't a place you could come out of and be normal.
Well, you have to come every day, okay?
If you don't, then I have to call child welfare.
And that's not a threat, it's a promise.
Eva!
Look what I got.
-A hundred? -Because of your encyclopedia.
Good. You gotta make good marks.
You don't want to be an idiot.
And you keep it up now, you hear me?
Now, your mother's back.
My mother's back?
Well, we had a nice, quiet couple of months.
Didn't we?
The good thing about my mother being taken to the nuthouse...
...was that when she came back, she was my mom again.
She cooked and she cleaned.
Once, she even tried to learn how to be a court stenographer.
For me, that was the good, quiet couple of months...
...before the drugs came back.
Mommy?
Lizzie.
Are you okay?
I'm okay.
Pumpkin, you look real good.
I'm glad you're home, Mommy.
Aren't you glad you're home?
Well, this hospital...
...wasn't too bad.
It's too green.
The walls.
And there were bars on the windows.
I'm sorry you had to see that, you know.
I'm used to it.
But now I'm glad you're home.
Look.
Look, I got 100.
No, no, 100 is good.
A hundred is perfect.
Didn't you ever get 100?
I didn't go to school.
I ran away too young.
Don't you ever run away...
...from home.
I won't.
Liz, I'll always be here for you.
I know, Mommy.
I'll always be here.
Always.
I know, Mommy.
I'm sick.
I'm sick. I'm sick.
Liz, I--
I have AIDS.
No, no, no.
Baby, don't.
They say--
Don't be afraid. They say I--
I might-- I could-- They say I could live forever, okay?
But I can't live here.
I'm going to go home.
This is home.
No, home to my pops. I'll take you and Lisa out of here.
No, no, you have to stay here.
I gotta stop the drugs.
And I can't do it with Daddy around.
But he'll be alone.
Lisa's already gone over. Just pack up your things, and let's go.
No, because you said Pops beat you.
You said he raped your sister.
-This is the way it has to be now. -No. Stay here.
I can't.
Stay, Mommy.
Everything was falling apart.
I thought if I stayed, I could stop it.
I thought if I stayed, everything would somehow stay the same.
Just open the door.
It's no use. I know you're in there.
-Where's your mother and sister? -They're gone.
Where's your father?
He's gone to get some food. He'll be right back.
Your teacher called. You're still not going to school.
You're never in school.
We've got to do something about this.
Miss Wanda warned you. I warned you. Your caseworkers have warned you.
This has been going on for years.
We all said, "Clean up this place and go to school.
Clean up. Go to school.”
You haven't done either one of them, have you?
Elizabeth, have you?
-No. -So, what are we going to do?
-I don't know. -I do.
You're going into the system.
I'm taking her.
Things are better. My daddy buys me baked potatoes every day.
You're not paying rent, not getting her to school.
I tell her to go. I told you to.
She's got a mind of her own. She's a feminist.
This is not a joking matter.
Pack her a suitcase.
Now.
-No! No! -I'm sorry.
-I'll go to school. Please. -This isn't working.
We need a responsible adult.
My grandpop's responsible. He'll take me. My sister's there.
Your sister goes to school.
I'll go to school. Please.
Don't make a fuss.
I'll talk to him.
And if he'll take you, you'll be out in 24 hours.
I'm sorry.
And if he won't?
You'll have time to figure out how you want to live your life.
Figure out my life.
Did people really do that?
Do they do that while they're falling down a deep, dark hole?
Buzzed in, locked in.
It was like visiting my mother, only I was in the crazy house now.
-Get in here! -Get her! Get her!
-Hey! -Oh, no, you didn't.
And I didn't get out in 24 hours.
I didn't get out in 24 days.
No one wanted me.
They just left me there.
What are you gonna do?
Sick!
Why don't you go to school?
That's the big problem we've got here.
Why don't you go?
From what I can see...
...you've got a discipline problem.
-Liz? -Hi, Pops.
Let me get your mother. Jeanie. Come out here.
She's here.
I'm late for school, but I wanted to see you.
-Thanks, Lisa. -Don't screw this up.
We're doing okay. And don't expect too much.
She's dying.
Oh, God!
When I think of my life, this is the time I like to think of--
When I got back, when my mother's mind was clear.
There was no cocaine, so her schizophrenia medicine kept on working.
And we'd go to the café and sit and talk and eat hamburgers.
We were together.
Even with her bad eyes, I think she could see me.
Well, she could see my outline.
And for a while, I had my mother again.
In Wood Park. Yeah, I remember. We used to slide down that hill, remember?
You'd put down that old cardboard, and we'd pretend it was a sled.
You remember that?
How about the tickle monster?
Well, we screamed and laughed about that one.
I was a good mom, wasn't I?
Wasn't I?
-I mean-- -Yeah, Mom. You were fine.
Yeah.
Well, I'm real glad we're all together, you know?
You and me and Lisa.
If Dad went off drugs, wouldn't that be great?
Maybe we could even go back to University Avenue.
Your dad...
...he's in a shelter right now.
He-- I'm afraid he lost the apartment.
He kind of ignored the rent, so, you know.
What about my stuff?
It all got thrown out.
All of it? Even my encyclopedias?
Look, pumpkin, I'm real sorry, you know.
They boarded up the whole place.
There was nothing-- There was nothing we could do.
Crap happens. I mean--
Look, you know, I got to go around the corner and see a few friends.
Just for a minute, okay? You finish your burger...
...and I'll be right back. Just be a minute.
Just be a minute, baby.
So that was that.
No going back.
I hadn't kept anything together.
I had only made things worse.
If I'd only gone to school, if I'd only....
If I'd only.
So that part of my life was over.
I guess the new part had begun.
Elizabeth Murray?
-And you're her mother? -Yeah.
I'll take you to your class now.
I'll take this. Okay?
Bye, Mom. Are you going to get home okay?
I'm just going to go down and see my buddies. They'll take care of me.
-I should come with you. -No, stay in school.
Otherwise, they'll take you away again. Go, go, go.
So we have nouns, verbs. Chris.
Adjectives and prepositions.
Who's that? Do you know who that is?
I wasn't the smelly kid anymore.
I'd learned to shower every day at the group home.
And my clothes, even if they came from the thrift shop, all fit.
But I still didn't know how to be in school.
I still didn't know how to be normal.
You know what I'm saying?
Can we try to settle down?
Chris, would you like to try diagram number 12?
No.
Bobby?
You find him amusing, miss--
-Elizabeth? -Please don't call me that.
That's your name, according to these forms.
Liz. Or Lizzie.
Liz or Lizzie is a nickname.
Are nicknames.
-No, I'm afraid not. -Call the girl what she wants to be called.
Elizabeth is a fine name. It's the name of a queen.
The Elizabethan age was the age of Shakespeare. What's your problem with it?
My mother calls me Elizabeth when she's going insane.
Wow, I don't want to know that.
Liz, then.
Bobby, the sentence?
So where'd you go to school before this?
I didn't.
How'd you pull that off?
I was in a group home.
Was that freaky?
-Yeah. -But you're not a freak?
No.
That's too bad.
I am.
-My birthday's coming up. -Yeah?
-When? -Oh, you'll know.
I'm going to wear my dad's trench coat.
I'm going to come to school with nothing on but my trench coat...
...and a pair of boots.
I'm going to flash all the teachers.
Happy birthday.
You don't believe me?
Yeah, I do.
No, you don't.
Hey, what's going on?
Who'd you throw mud at before me?
No one.
This is great.
How come you never had us over?
My pops is kind of cranky. We have to be out by 6.
Liz, where's the phone? They're doing another contest thingy.
I don't know. Follow the cord.
-You're never going to win. -You know what? Shut up.
I gotta dial this number before I forget.
-Did anybody get the hypotenuse? -Give it a rest. The test is in a week.
-Can I have a piece of that chicken? -Sure.
-Is it 6 already? -It's only 4:30.
It's some drunk lady.
Gross out! She puked right on the door.
Oh, I'm going out the window.
Oh, God, I don't feel very good.
Can you help me, please?
Yeah, what happened? Come on, this way.
Well, there she blows.
All right, up.
All right.
Pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin.
I'm a good mom.
I am a good mom.
I just need a hug, okay, honey? I want a hug. I want a hug.
-Come on. -Oh, God.
There we go.
All clean, see?
She couldn't take living straight, why should I expect her to take dying?
Isn't dying the hardest thing anyone's ever done?
Everyone's gone.
Except you.
Yeah.
So where does your grandpops sleep?
-Here. -What, he sleeps with his daughter?
-Well, I don't think like that. -Yeah, but you don't know.
He did stuff to her sister when they were younger.
She told me that.
Why her sister and not her?
I figure he did them both.
So is her sister crazy too?
Yeah. And their mother too.
That's why I didn't want to come here.
You know, my mom's getting back with my dad.
I wish my mom would.
He does stuff to my sister.
You don't have a sister.
Lucky for her.
-Did you tell your mother? -Yeah, I told her when she left him...
...and she cursed him out, said she'd call the cops...
...and now she's getting back with him.
I asked her how she could do that, and she said she missed him.
She missed him.
I was 7 when he first stuck it in.
Chris!
Chris, don't!
Move in with me.
-What, stay here? -Yeah.
-Well, what will your grandfather say? -Well, he won't know.
We'll work it out so he'll never see you.
We won't get up until he leaves.
-He's like a robot anyway. Out by 8-- -And back at 6.
-Out. -Pops, she has no place to stay.
-That's not my problem. Out! -Get off me!
Leave her alone! Don't!
Your mother's dying...
...your piece-of-trash father walked out and stuck me with you.
Did I ask for this in my old age? Did I?
What are you doing?
Fine. That suits me.
You'll end up trash anyway.
Just like your parents.
So I left.
You wanna go get your stuff...
...or are you gonna leave me out here alone?
Do any of us bargain for our lives?
It seems to me we just kind of fall into them.
We have to do the best we can.
Let's go.
My mother was dying.
My father was gone.
But I had to believe the road would rise up to meet me.
I was 15 when I went out into the world.
What's a home, anyway?
A roof?
Bed?
A place where, when you go there, they have to take you?
If so, then I was 15 when I became homeless.
-Spare some change? -Get a job.
How you doing tonight?
God bless you, kid.
Spare some change?
But sometimes I felt like I had never had a home in my life.
Oh, bring it on.
Let's go.
Where are you going? Come back here!
And then, other times I knew wherever my mother was...
...that's where my home was.
Oh, God. Oh, no.
But month by month...
...she was fading away.
Liz?
Yeah.
Where did you go?
I've been staying with friends.
I miss you.
Pops, he hit me and-- You know.
I couldn't stay here.
Look, Lisa said you stopped going to school.
I'm gonna go back.
When?
When you get better.
They tease me.
They tease me at the bar...
...because I shake.
I can't stop shaking.
I think that's--
That's because of the drinking, you know?
You should probably stop.
Oh, okay. Okay.
You're gonna get better, you know?
I love you, Mom.
I love you.
Get over there.
Hey, guys, wait up.
I'll catch you later, all right? I'm just gonna--
Bye.
Mom.
We took up a collection.
She doesn't come in anymore. She thinks you're always laughing at her.
She's dead, hon.
She died yesterday morning.
Sometimes I feel like there's skin on the world.
And those of us who are born under it...
...can see through it.
We just can't get through it.
My mother was being buried in section 51, the charity plot.
My mother was in there.
Strangers had put her in there.
Was she naked? Was she frightened?
No.
She was gone.
-Come on, let's go. -No. Wait a minute.
There should be a service. A priest. What's supposed to happen?
When you go, we're gonna bury him. That's all.
It's a she!
-It's my mother. -There's no priest?
Not in these cases.
-You didn't know that? -She's dead.
Put her in the ground.
Priest or no priest, what did it matter?
She was gone.
She was already rotting.
Sorry.
Was I supposed to believe she had found eternal peace?
So you coming, Liz?
You know what? Just go.
Hey, wait.
Okay.
Look...
...I'm getting out of here.
Liz, you know, I just-- I can't-- I--
I can't do this anymore.
You know? So I'm going.
Where?
Group home.
Crazy house.
You know what, Liz? It's this. This.... This is crazy.
You should come with me.
Yeah.
So I'll see you around.
People die.
Things decay.
Everything that seems so solid is meaningless.
All that's left is the gestures we make.
Gestures and error...
...that's what we remember.
I remember riding with my mother through the leaves, the year ending...
...but her arms were warm around me.
When I was little and she was well.
That was long ago.
Maybe it only happened once, maybe she betrayed me 1000 times...
...it didn't matter.
Math was always my weakest subject.
We remember what we choose.
Get out of there!
Where are you gonna put the stone?
There's no stones here. There's no room.
In a week, there would be no trace of her.
But what did it matter?
This wasn't the real world.
We only really live in each other's hearts.
She lived in my heart.
But I lived nowhere.
I was all alone in the world.
You're 16 years old with an eighth-grade education...
...on a downward spiral...
...that will end in a worse place than you ever dreamed.
You've burned every bridge, you've worn out every welcome...
...and everyone who has ever believed in you...
...you've let down.
Eva?
I don't want to be an idiot.
I wanna go to school.
-Yes? -I'm Liz Murray. I have an appointment.
At 9:30.
It's 10:30.
-I'm sorry, the subway got stuck. -But it's really too late.
School started three weeks ago, and we're just about full.
With kids who get here on time, honey.
I read the brochure.
"Intensive student participation for the development of a just community."
I just need one chance.
You can wait and talk to David.
But he's got this meeting right after.
What makes Humanities Prep right for you?
I've been thrown out of everything else.
-You have? Public school, private school? -You name it.
I knew at that moment I had to make a choice.
I could submit to everything that was happening and live a life of excuses...
...or I could push myself.
I could push myself and make my life good.
-Okay, we'll get back to you by Friday. -Okay, thank you.
Oh, it was a pleasure, guys.
-Elizabeth? -Liz.
We're making our last decisions, I'm late.
Well, can't I just talk to you for a minute? Thirty seconds?
Well, there's the application, there's the big essay question too.
I've already done the essay.
I really want this.
I haven't had a lot of grownups that have proven to be trustworthy...
...or that they're in for the long run...
...so maybe I don't know how to talk to you, but....
My parents both used drugs, a lot of them.
I won't go near them...
...but I guess I've kind of lived the lifestyle.
I'm embarrassed now about how laid-back I've been.
I've never been to school, except for the eighth grade.
Your grades were good in elementary.
I used to show up the last week and take the tests...
...and that's how I got promoted.
I'm smart. I know I can succeed. I just need the chance.
I need the chance to climb out of this place that I've been born in.
Everyone I know, they're angry and tired and they're trying to survive.
But I know that there's a world out there that's better...
...that's better developed and--
I want to live in it.
Why now?
My mother died of AIDS.
She died a couple of months ago, and....
It was a real slap in the face.
I guess I always thought that she was going to get better and take care of me.
It's pretty stupid, huh?
She had never taken care of me.
I took care of her.
She was my baby.
But now she's gone.
So....
Now it's time to take care of yourself.
Can you get here on time, Liz?
I'll sleep here if I have to.
Okay, you're in.
You told the others you wouldn't know until Friday.
-You're in. -David.
Thank you. He just changed my life!
-Fast work, man. -We just have to file the paperwork.
I've got your transcripts.
Now it's just the easy stuff. Address, phone number.
We have to have a meeting with a parent, legal guardian.
Get that in, we're good to go.
Dad.
Hey. Lizzie.
I need your help.
Please.
Such a production.
Such a production. Why don't you stay in the Bronx and just go to Kennedy?
I don't know how to go to a normal school.
Well, why? This isn't a normal school?
-Well, it's public, but it's like private. -Yeah.
-Dad, Dad. -Yeah?
You know, I think I can do this.
Yeah? That's good.
-I don't think I can. -Yeah, you can, you can.
Look, just say you're a long-haul truck driver, that's why they'll never see you.
We're living with your girlfriend now, also.
Well, a long-haul truck-- You gave me a girlfriend?
-Eva. -Eva? That's not good.
-Eva's old enough to be my mother. -Dad, I just--
I just need an address, you know?
A phone number they can call.
Please?
Please. I mean, they can't know I'm homeless.
They'll call the city, and I'll get locked up again.
Okay.
-Yeah? -Okay.
-Mr. Murray. -I'm Peter. Peter Finiti.
-I never actually married Liz's mother. -Okay, well, sit down. Please.
I'm grateful that you're taking my daughter in. This is a pretty nice place.
Well, we're still new. We have big ambitions.
So does Liz, I guess. She's a feminist.
I expect you knew that already.
Her mother actually was beautiful, looked like a movie star.
Her mother was also kind of a feminist too, or something.
Anyway, I thought when I met her that she was just spirited...
...but she was completely insane.
We just need you to sign right here.
And give us contact information, address and phone number.
Yeah, okay.
University Avenue. 3458.
-Is there an apartment? -Yep, 2B.
-3B. -3B, 3B. Yeah, that's right.
Yeah, that's right, we moved upstairs.
Phone number?
Oh, 718.
-555. -555.
-5767. -55767.
555-5767, yeah.
My memory-- My mind's totally shot.
-So that's it? I got stuff I gotta do. -That's it.
-Thanks for coming. -Thank you for helping.
Can I start now?
It's refreshing someone wants to come to school.
-Yeah. -I'm gonna walk him out.
All right.
-What, they gave you tokens here? -No, I got a job.
I remember when you were a kid, you bagged groceries down on Fordham Road.
-Put food in the fridge. How old were you? -Eight.
I'm not a people person.
-You understand that. -Yeah.
I'm just not a people person, Liz.
It's got nothing to do with you. It's not personal.
-You came today, though. -Yeah.
I love you, Dad.
Oh, don't do that. Don't love me. It's a waste of energy.
You know, when I was little...
...you were the most interesting thing in my world.
Everyone was just talking about...
...drugs or sex or--
You know, just trying to survive the day.
But you always had ideas.
It's because of you I know that there's another way of being.
Are you okay?
Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. They take care of me fine down at the shelter.
You know, actually, I'm gonna get my own apartment.
You know, they like to do that. You can come stay with me, visit me anytime.
-Your own apartment? -Yeah.
You know, they like to do that, you know. They keep people like me out of shelters.
You know, the people, the patients.
You know, people with AIDS, so....
Hey, listen. Hey, no, no, no.
A lot has changed since Jean. They got medicines now.
And I'm clean.
So I'm gonna live forever.
Okay. I'll be fine.
I'm gonna live forever.
Stay in school.
I blew this...
...but you can do this.
-Gulf of Tonkin. -Remember the Maine.
Anybody? Franco-Prussian war? Yo, did you get Bismarck?
You didn't get Bismarck.
-l thought Bismarck was a roll. -A cake.
-It's a Kaiser roll. -ls Bismarck a Kaiser?
Stop talking. You're making me hungry.
Dave, are we gonna get textbooks next year? I keep losing these things.
Textbooks.
-Why don't we use textbooks? Anyone? -They're too heavy?
They are, but no cigar.
They're too expensive. The school's poor.
I'm keeping my cigars today. You, new girl.
-Her name is Liz. -She's been here a week. Try and remember.
Liz. Sue me.
Here.
Textbook. Textbook.
Go ahead, open it up.
What do you see?
Words.
What kind of words?
The words of the author.
No, no, this is important.
And what do we have here?
A lot of other people's words.
Why do I want you to have them?
Because one point of view gives you a one-dimensional world.
Cigars.
Bismarck, Marx...
...the guy who sold me the bubble-gum cigars.
Why on earth would we want to confine ourselves to his story?
-History. -But isn't that the deal, Dave?
-I mean, isn't there an official history? -New girl, tell them what history is.
History is all of us.
All our stories count.
That's it. Grab your papers.
I'll be in the lounge if you want to talk about them.
Hey, Liz. This one's yours.
Hey, new girl.
You don't remember my name?
I remember your name. I like the others to gang up on your side.
You're pretty smart.
So are you.
-You gave me an A minus. -Yeah, I thought it was a very good paper.
-How do I make it an A? -Liz, an A minus is an excellent mark.
This is your first schoolwork in, what, forever?
If my words count...
...I want them to be right.
Okay.
Well...
...your premise is a good one, but....
What are you still doing here?
-Algebra. -Yeah, well, it's after 11. I'm locking up.
-How many classes are you taking? -The regular five.
And the Saturday programming...
...the night-school French...
...and the after-school science thingies.
Ten.
Now you see why I need the before-school math.
That's an awful lot.
I'm 17. I don't want to be 21 before I finish high school.
So you're trying to do four years of high school in three?
Two.
-You need the before-school math too. -Yeah.
-You're going to kill yourself, you know? -No.
Now I'm going to live.
I had it down.
The B train took 70 minutes to do its entire run.
Up and back four times, and I would be at school just a little early.
And David would let me in.
For the first time, my life had some order I could count on.
Eighth Avenue and 14th Street. Watch the doors.
Chris!
Chris, Chris.
You got the name down.
-What are you doing here? -Hanging out.
What about the home?
Playing hooky.
So how come you didn't look for me?
I did.
I've been looking for a long time. It's just--
You haven't been in any of your places, you know?
I'm here now, and I'm going to a new school.
You'd like it.
Hey.
Hey, come on.
Come on, everything's great. We're together.
-Last one out, first one in. -No, that describes you, David.
How did you get so dedicated?
Well, I'm such a privileged jerk, I wanted to give something back.
And this is?
-My friend, Chris. My best friend. -Hi, Chris.
Hey.
I want her to come here too.
It's no party. It's a tough place.
But if she's good enough for you, she's good enough for me. Come on in.
So, what were you putting on the board?
We decided we would send our top 10 students on a trip to Boston.
-Cool. -You ever been?
I've never been out of New York.
We went to Queens once.
Well, you're going.
Come on. No way am I one of the top 10 students.
Oh, you're not one of the top, you're the top.
You get the best grades in this whole place.
Yeah, so what? She's going to Boston?
All expenses paid.
-How long? -Five days.
You okay, Liz?
Yeah.
I've just always been trash, you know?
You're not trash.
This is to get you thinking about college.
-What's college like? -It's all crap. Shut up!
You can come too.
-Can't she? -Sure, if she does the work.
-Not frigging interested, thanks. -Come on. Dream a little.
What do you wanna be when you grow up?
Boy, I've been grown since I was 7.
-I mean after high school. It's okay. -No, it's not okay.
I'll be a garbage man. I'll be a prostitute.
Who cares what the hell I'm gonna be?
Welcome to Harvard, guys.
Look at the great photo op.
So does it look like you thought it would?
Better.
Unattainably better.
Liz, they're just people.
Not people like me.
Why not people like me?
What made them so different?
Because of where they were born?
I was working as hard as I could so I didn't end up on food stamps or hustling.
What--? What if I worked even more?
I was so close to the skin now, I could touch it.
It would be a reach.
But it's not impossible.
Dawn, are there any other scholarships?
That's quite a few.
"Write 1500 words on the importance of the free market in the free world...
...and win $500." Yeah.
I'd only need 70 of those every year.
There was something new from The New York Times.
Maybe I didn't put it in yet.
Twelve thousand dollars.
-Every year for four years. -What do you have to do?
"Attach an essay describing what you believe...
...to be the most significant academic achievement...
...and how you have overcome any challenges or obstacles.”
Can I have a copy of this?
I want to stand beside people on the sidewalk and not be so far beneath them.
I want to go to Harvard and become very developed...
...read all the best books.
And then I'd find myself thinking:
"What if I just go crazy...
...and use every bit of my potential to do that?"
I have to do it.
I have no choice.
Am I late?
No, I'm early.
I made you some coffee.
-One Sweet 'N Low, right? -Right.
Thank you.
Can I have a stamp for this?
The New York Times scholarship. You haven't mailed that in yet?
When's the deadline?
Tomorrow.
I gave you that four months ago. What were you waiting for?
For today.
For me to turn 18.
It's your birthday?
Happy birthday.
But I don't think there's an age requirement.
No.
Thank you.
But now I could tell the truth.
That I was homeless.
And no one could come and take me away.
Lisa?
Liz?
What are you doing here?
I have this interview.
I'm a finalist for a big New York Times scholarship...
...but I don't have anything to wear.
You want my clothes?
Well, nothing fancy.
Just something I can put over this.
Thank you.
Mama sold my coat once.
I couldn't go to school.
I remember.
I cried.
I loved going to school so much.
You never went to school.
Why would they give you a scholarship?
Because I'm homeless and I'm doing really well in school now.
You're not homeless, Liz. You could stay here.
No, I couldn't.
You know that.
Pop hates you.
I'm going blind.
Like Mama.
I'm scared.
They kicked me out of the group home. And all my stuff!
-They can't kick you out, you're not 18 yet. -They'll put me in Brooklyn.
I don't wanna go to Brooklyn. Help me!
-I have an interview, all right? -No, you can't leave me!
-I have to. -You can't just leave me.
Chris! Chris!
Let me get through this thing, then you can go to school with me.
I don't want to! I don't belong there, and neither do you!
Yes, I do.
You think they let people like us into Harvard?
The world moves.
You're just a speck.
It can all happen without you.
Situations are not conducive to what you want for yourself.
Someone else's needs...
...someone else's plight, is going to be stronger than yours is.
I think people just get frustrated with how harsh life can be...
...so they spend their time dwelling on that frustration...
...and calling it anger.
Keeping their eyes shut to the wholeness of the situation...
...to all the little tiny things that have come together to make it...
...what itis.
I was turned so inward by my mom and dad...
...I got a chance to see how all the little tiny things come together...
...to make the final product.
So I was never inclined to wonder why this or why that.
I knew why.
Not that I was happy about it.
In fact, I was really sad about it most of the time.
But I was very accepting.
I was very accepting.
I just always knew that I needed to get out.
Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?
I loved my mother.
So much.
She was a drug addict.
She was an alcoholic.
She was legally blind. She was a schizophrenic.
But...
...I never forgot...
...that she did love me.
Even if she did.
All the time.
All the time. All....
All the time.
I hope you all know how much I really need this.
How I can't go to college or anything without it.
She earned a 95 average and finished at the top of her class of 150.
She did it while completing four years of high school in two.
She did it while homeless, her mother dead...
...her father a drug addict living in shelters.
And any way I describe this can't do justice to her accomplishments.
So I'll just introduce to you our sixth New York Times scholarship winner...
...Liz Murray.
Congratulations.
Everything's changed.
My life will never be the same...
...and I don't know what else to say except for thank you.
Thank you very much.
Liz!
How did you do this?
How could I not do it?
My parents showed me the alternative.
Didn't you ever feel sorry for yourself?
Sorry?
Sleeping in subways, eating out of dumpsters.
That had always been my life.
And I really....
I feel that I got lucky because any sense of security...
...was pulled out from under me, so I was forced to look forward.
I had to. There was no going back.
And I reached a point where I just thought, "All right.
I'm going to work as hard as I possibly can and see what happens.”
And now I'm going to college...
...and The New York Times is going to pay.
So you were lucky...
...but is there anything you'd change if you were able?
I'd give it back.
All of it.
If I could have my family back.
I got into Harvard.
I got a job at The New York Times.
I got an apartment.
I don't have to carry my whole life with me anymore.
I don't have to carry my whole life with me...
...but I do.
Everyone I've known, everything I've done.
Pieces chip off.
I forget the little things.
It's still hard to carry...
...alone.
So that's why I've told you.
That's why I've told you my story.
Now I can lay that burden down...
...put it to rest...
...and I can go on.
Hi, Mom.
[ENGLISH]