Andy feels worse and worse, because she's right about everything, and she admits finally that she knows damn well nothing is going to come of it. "What can I do? Nobody cares about Eggs except me. And I'll miss him for the rest of my life. But the three of us will always know he didn't deserve to die." And Andy starts crying right then, and tells the truth so beautifully and unstoppably, so authentically, so unlike anybody on this show at any time, that you can see it melting her. It's what she actually needed to hear, to know that he sees exactly how she feels. It's gorgeous.
"Well, I don't feel like a hero. I never wanted nothing like this to happen. It was all Maryann, he was innocent. God help me. If I could do it again, if I could go back and just get ahold of Jason's gun, if Eggs would listen and put the knife down, but he... He was bound and determined to die. I couldn't stop him. Jason didn't know. I'm sorry. Tara, I'm so sorry."
Terry won't talk to Sam through the kitchen window, and Tommy's not interested in being a waitress for the night. He throws a little fit in the back hallway, and points out the total Mickensness of Sam tonight: "Look at yourself. Drunk and yelling. You're nothing but Joe Lee in a Sam suit!" Which is true, but the last thing you wanna hear when you're in one of these. So of course Sam tells him other true stuff, like how Tommy is a whiny-ass bitch and ungrateful and a punk and a ruiner. Also, though, he is fired and thrown out of his house and totally cut loose. Consider yourself emancipated, little man. Cesar Milan is in the hizz.
Tommy changes his tune so fast, which normally bothers me -- I hate Willow Rosenberg more than anybody ever on television, precisely because she never stops pulling this shit -- and tries to rewind to when he was not a punk-ass bitch. "Wait, I lost my temper, it's nothing, I'm sorry, I ain't mad anymore, you're my brother, you're the only one I know around here, where am I supposed to go?" And I mean, I guess the only reason I didn't ping total hate on that is because Sam is being so very unreasonable all on his own. He then throws out the entirety of his clientele, sending them scattering into the night like a stomped anthill, and the only person left is Tara, who could give a shit about Sam's silly anger and mussed-up hair. He is a tourist, she lives there.
"I tell you what," Sookie says. "That dungeon this time did me in." I love that Sookie has a breaking point, first of all, because she has the attention span of a gnat and most likely will forget the dungeon ever happened ten minutes from now, but most of all I love that her personal breaking point is neck shackles in a dungeon. Like, if you can weather the storm up to that point, you have my respect, but on the other hand if in your lifetime you find yourself shackled by the neck to anything with a pee-bucket next to you, you should at least consider the choices that brought you there. There's a bigger picture here. Which is I guess what Sookie is saying, but it's still funny. She never really noticed how fucked up things were continually getting, usually because of her own retarded actions, but now she has been done in. You know? This insult is simply beyond the pale. She is pulverized by this latest thing.
Hey Bill, what's the most appalling thing you could say in response? "Well, if you'd stayed put as I asked you to..." DING! We have a winna. Sookie's like, "Right, right, I generally do contribute to the horrors ceaselessly visited upon me, but I'm telling you: I have had my A-Ha Moment." Since Bill knows as well as we do that this is a lie, he lets it go and they start into an absolutely unbearable conversation about how great it would be if she wasn't the town retard and he wasn't a vampire and they were just normal. It's so unbelievably obnoxious that you immediately know two things: This is the show punishing them for us, for being such gaywads all the time, and also something terrible is about to happen. The longer it goes on and the louder the cellos get, the more you expect a dumptruck to t-bone Sookie's car. It's suspenseful.
And what would life be like if they were substantially different? Just as lame as you think. Would Sookie go to college? No, she'd be a member of the booming real estate workforce, super rich and I guess taking part in some economy that exists only in her head. And Bill? Oh, he'd like to be a third grade teacher, and go fishing with Jason. They'd grow vegetables and be married and have Tara over for dinner, and sometimes we double date with Arlene and Terry. And Eric Northman wouldn't even exist, and everything would be peaceful. It's just such a brainless clusterfuck of boring horrible beigeness that you know the universe is opening its hand out flat to swat them from the sky, and it's gorgeous. They have never been so lovable nor have they been so infuriating. It is the perfect Bill and Sookie Infatuated Tweens moment of all time. Including, of course, the moment Eric and Russell appear out of nowhere and stop the car with their bare hands.
Holly casts a very involved circle around herself and Arlene, and she invokes the Goddess. Arlene tries to be cool about all this. "My mama passed away a couple years ago. She didn't approve of me, but we were... We were real close," Holly says, and this is insightful of her, that probably she herself went Wiccan because she needed to connect to divine motherhood because her own mother was so awful. Is Arlene totally healthy? Yes, hilariously so: "I got the body of a tired teenager." Holly hibachis up a "decoction" of various oils and things and tells her to follow the directions crazy hard, because this is a big deal they are doing, and Arlene promises she will.
"Some people like to pray before. You know, help 'em get focused." Arlene isn't so sure that God's really on board for this particular non-abortion abortion, and even now you can see her working through what is admittedly a hell of a lot in the way of processing to even be here. And she can't talk to her dead mother's spirit, obviously. "Then talk to the Great Mother. She's God too." Arlene's taken by that, by that idea of God as a woman, and for a second you could feel very sorry for her. The idea of always being on the outside, looking in, never once feeling any kind of connection to the world and other people and the divinity all around her.
"I never thought of God as a woman. But if you're with me tonight, maybe you are. And mama, if you can hear me, would you listen? Really just listen for once? You gotta know this is the right thing to do. It's... It's the only way to be sure that Rene will never pass his sickness on to the world. Then... Coby and Lisa and Terry will be safe, and I won't have to live my whole life in fear. And the baby won't have to be a crazed killer. I don't believe in abortion. I'm doing what needs to be done."
Holly cuts into her finger -- "Sacrifice. Nothing's free" -- and reminds Arlene that if it doesn't take, it doesn't take. "If the spirit is meant to be born, it'll be born and there's nothing we can do about it. It's in the hands of the Goddess now." She gives her the tea, and Arlene stares down: "Sip it or shoot it?" Shoot it. She does. Blessed be.
Kitch Maynard is still abusing his teammates to the point of them running away when Jason appears, desperate to get some kind of validation from this kid, who calls him "Grandpa Stackhouse." Jason informs him that being on V is not only illegal, but also cheating. "On top of which, you're already a cocky bullshit motherfucker." Yeah, um, that's why he's hot. Jason offers to take him down, tell the coach and parents and principal, and Kitch laughs in his old obsolete face. "My coach is the one who gave me the V. My parents are paying for it. My principal, he uses it for his sex life. They won't care what you say, and you can't prove it. There are no tests that can trace it."
But this is Jason, he