Philosophy was never one of my favorite courses back at school. I could never get all that interested in it. It seemed like all anyone ever did was bottle their opinions into one umbrella topic and name it something; and then we – the unfortunate students – had to learn them all. It wasn't the learning them all that bothered me so much, if I was really honest with myself, but the bottling. Every time we talked about a new school of thought, it always had its good points and its absurdities. It seemed to me that undying commitment to any side was just foolishness, and the only sanity to be found was somewhere along the fence.

But while most of the class was just listing off these far away people and their nearly irrelevant musings on human nature or something of the sort, there were times when the professor opened up a bit of class discussion at the end of the lecture. This, to me, was much more like what philosophy ought to be – the expression of varying opinions without a set standard. I was far too proud at the time to admit my deep interest in the subject, but these rare snip-it's of intellectual discourse sparked my curiosity and got me to think, to really think. Elphaba had started the ball rolling, as it were, and I found I rather enjoyed the mental stimulation that I had craved without even realizing I'd had a need.

One day I began to sense one of these tangents coming on and I looked up from my doodle-ridden notes with genuine interest. The professor put the chalk down in the tray and walked around in front of the lectern, leaning against the front edge of his desk, casually. He took off his glasses and slipped them carefully into his front coat pocket. This abnormal display of informality meant that he wasn't planning on reading again anytime soon and was a sure sign that the class was essentially over, or at least the lecture.

"Alright," he began, "I've got a quote for you all, and I'd like to hear your opinions on its validity… or lack thereof, as the case may be. 'The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.' So what is better? To live humbly or to die nobly?" The professor surveyed his class in anticipation of a response.

After a pause, he prodded, "Well, what do you think? Wisdom? Utter folly? Let's hear it."

I was still too concerned with my self-image to actually participate in these discussions, captivated by them as I was. Sometimes I talked with Elphaba about them later, but mostly I just sat and processed the information flow around me. This time, more than usual, I was itching to put in my two cents, but I held my tongue. I had my pride after all.

When everyone had had a moment to think it over, one girl raised her hand and argued in agreement with the quote. "It makes a lot of sense when you think about it," she explained, "You can't just go flying off the handle at every little thing. If you go getting yourself killed for a cause, how can you expect to accomplish anything?"

"Good point. Interesting analysis," the professor nodded approvingly, "Any agreements or dissensions?"

I glanced to my left where Elphaba was sitting, just in time to see her shift a little in her seat. I knew she was practically squirming inside before I even saw her move. You must understand, by this time, we were quite close. I could read her like a book and predict almost any reaction, as she could do for me. To her, such an opinion wasn't calm rationalization and consideration of facts; it was ludicrous. For the girl who'd had to fight for every scrap freedom she'd ever had since day one, to do anything other than stand up resolutely for a cause was just ineffective laziness, and I could hardly blame her.

In typical Elphaba fashion, she'd soon said as much, although not quite so concisely and without the bit about her family history. Looking back on it, I don't think she even realized that connection. Then again, she rarely acknowledged any correlation between her past and present.

Now I knew I couldn't participate in this discussion. At first, I thought I just didn't want to go against Elphie, which was somewhat true, but then I realized that wasn't all of it. I knew that to argue against the quote would be a lie. I liked its philosophy a lot, actually. My classmate was right. You couldn't just react with undying passion to everything. Whether the death in the quote was literal or metaphorical, it wasn't necessarily worth the risk.

But then I thought about what Elphie had said again, and tried to decide what I thought. Her take on the phrase was starting to make more sense too. What if quotes like this really were just rationalizations for the weak so they didn't feel so bad about themselves and their lives in the shadows? If a person had lived his life humbly for a cause because he was too scared to act out, it was quite convenient to decide that such a course was the right one and to redefine cowardice as complacency.

So I just didn't know.

I asked Elphaba about it after class on the way to lunch. "I couldn't live like that," she told me, and it was all she would say on the subject. I knew enough to know when Elphie was done talking about something, and I dropped it.

But she was right. She never could live like that. Years later, I'm still trying to make sense of it all, and that's the only thing I really know – that she just couldn't live like that. Elphie's been dead for two years now, and all I know is that it couldn't have ended any other way.

Maybe I'm more mature than she is for quietly hinting at pro-Animal legislation over the years instead of throwing my life away. Or maybe I'm weaker for cowering behind my bubble instead of saying what I really feel. I still don't know, and I'm beginning realize I probably never will.

Maybe the only way the world functions is with both types.

You know, pink and green get to be rather tiresome on their own, don't they? But then, they do go awfully well together. All I know is she just couldn't live like that.