(no subject)
She (shetheyshe) is exhausted; she barely makes it into the bed before she drops into unconsciousness. She wakes up in the middle of the night unable to remember who she is.
After several hours, when dawn is peeking in at the window, Susannah manages to get ahold of the steering wheel again.
Eddie left, she thinks, with more than a little wonder. She'd been sure, even the parts of her that didn't want to leave, that the project to save Henry would keep him here. Where could he go? He was dead, there was already the other Eddie there. I don't understand enough.
She makes a conscious decision not to dwell on it, not to let fear take root, until she can find out more from someone who was there--Susan, belike. This is a standard pattern, Roland's teaching, but she's more than a little surprised at how easy it is. It seems hard to be frightened; she feels new, crackling with life (or pseudolife, considering that her body has gone alleyo), and she's finally gotten the blinders off and can be truly glad to be here for the first time.
Tomorrow, probably, somebody will get shot or turned into something and she'll begin, like everyone, to love and hate Milliways in equal part. But right now all she can do is turn over in her mind all those she loved who have been returned to her, even in a small part--for was not even a few days with Jake something she thought she'd never have again--and all those she never met that she's learned to love. That she learned to love despite herself, the self that was here, and didn't that say something about The Girls down in the Dogan.
Susan is dear, she thinks, and Ace. And Anthy, too. Well, all three of her otherselves were set on the girl, anyway. Susannah senses it would probably be best to exercise some cautious, wait-and-see action here, and it's probably her job as the sane one to enforce that, but tonight, at least, she loves Anthy too. And Cuthbert, and Alain.
And Eddie. She finds she's not incapable of worrying, just a little, and wishes she could touch him, as she did when she was in New York of 1999 and he was in Maine of 1977. But that mental equipment is all in disarray; the dogan looks like a twister went through it; aftereffects of spending time (she's even now not sure exactly how much) with Del. Yet despite what she told Susan, she feels sure she'd know if she was really never going to see him again, as she felt the danger of it when the other Susannah locked (themherthem) them in the cells. And beyond that was simple resolve: she would not let him be lost to her. He wasn't gone to the clearing. A door that has been opened once can be reopened.
Her mind drifts.
How did Ace not know Susannah was split? She was their friend, had been their houseguest, poured out her grief for them more than once. She didn't go telling just anybody--nobody in the Calla had ever known--and it wasn't something she exactly liked... but still. It was amazing how different this place looked, when you didn't keep wanting it to look like somewhere else. When you didn't see all the people here, on some level, as interlopers.
With a pang, her mind turns to Henry. God, I wasn't any too charitable to him, was I? She still doesn't exactly like Henry Dean, not by a longshot, but it's obvious now how much of her earlier dislike was based on seeing him as one more hurdle in a series of hurdles, one more to be overcome with a minimum of tears before reaching the finish line.
Well, she'd hit the finish line, and voluntarily chosen to keep on running. Which sort of made any hurdles from her on out hers, bought and paid for, no use complaining. In time, she knows, she's going to get tired again; learn to regret her choices at times and wish that things had been different at times. But right now, a life, even without, precisely, her life, is before her, and she can't wait to get into it.
After some more sleep.
After several hours, when dawn is peeking in at the window, Susannah manages to get ahold of the steering wheel again.
Eddie left, she thinks, with more than a little wonder. She'd been sure, even the parts of her that didn't want to leave, that the project to save Henry would keep him here. Where could he go? He was dead, there was already the other Eddie there. I don't understand enough.
She makes a conscious decision not to dwell on it, not to let fear take root, until she can find out more from someone who was there--Susan, belike. This is a standard pattern, Roland's teaching, but she's more than a little surprised at how easy it is. It seems hard to be frightened; she feels new, crackling with life (or pseudolife, considering that her body has gone alleyo), and she's finally gotten the blinders off and can be truly glad to be here for the first time.
Tomorrow, probably, somebody will get shot or turned into something and she'll begin, like everyone, to love and hate Milliways in equal part. But right now all she can do is turn over in her mind all those she loved who have been returned to her, even in a small part--for was not even a few days with Jake something she thought she'd never have again--and all those she never met that she's learned to love. That she learned to love despite herself, the self that was here, and didn't that say something about The Girls down in the Dogan.
Susan is dear, she thinks, and Ace. And Anthy, too. Well, all three of her otherselves were set on the girl, anyway. Susannah senses it would probably be best to exercise some cautious, wait-and-see action here, and it's probably her job as the sane one to enforce that, but tonight, at least, she loves Anthy too. And Cuthbert, and Alain.
And Eddie. She finds she's not incapable of worrying, just a little, and wishes she could touch him, as she did when she was in New York of 1999 and he was in Maine of 1977. But that mental equipment is all in disarray; the dogan looks like a twister went through it; aftereffects of spending time (she's even now not sure exactly how much) with Del. Yet despite what she told Susan, she feels sure she'd know if she was really never going to see him again, as she felt the danger of it when the other Susannah locked (themherthem) them in the cells. And beyond that was simple resolve: she would not let him be lost to her. He wasn't gone to the clearing. A door that has been opened once can be reopened.
Her mind drifts.
How did Ace not know Susannah was split? She was their friend, had been their houseguest, poured out her grief for them more than once. She didn't go telling just anybody--nobody in the Calla had ever known--and it wasn't something she exactly liked... but still. It was amazing how different this place looked, when you didn't keep wanting it to look like somewhere else. When you didn't see all the people here, on some level, as interlopers.
With a pang, her mind turns to Henry. God, I wasn't any too charitable to him, was I? She still doesn't exactly like Henry Dean, not by a longshot, but it's obvious now how much of her earlier dislike was based on seeing him as one more hurdle in a series of hurdles, one more to be overcome with a minimum of tears before reaching the finish line.
Well, she'd hit the finish line, and voluntarily chosen to keep on running. Which sort of made any hurdles from her on out hers, bought and paid for, no use complaining. In time, she knows, she's going to get tired again; learn to regret her choices at times and wish that things had been different at times. But right now, a life, even without, precisely, her life, is before her, and she can't wait to get into it.
After some more sleep.