"Well I know what you mean," Amy says. "I never knew I could have something like what I have with Jason. I'm not about to let anything destroy that," she says, and you have to know Amy better than her friends Arlene and Sookie to understand the darkness that passes over her eyes when she says it. Sookie, trying to be human, attempts once again to have a conversation. As usual, it does not go well: "I don't know anyone can trust anybody these days. They're always keeping things from you, and you don't even know who people are, or what they are..." Amy stares at Sookie and Arlene shrugs, like, "This is why she is the town retard, shit like this." Amy gets them all back on track with the love talk, to Arlene's total gratitude: "Well, you know what I love about Jason? Everything is just right there on the surface. You never have to wonder what he's thinking." Sookie snorts: "Yeah, because he ain't thinking." Arlene laughs, impressed and shocked and a little bit in love with Sookie, because Damn. If life were The Golden Girls, Sookie Stackhouse would be her Sophia.
And that's when Tara wanders up looking like a total lunatic, and everybody forgets how Sookie's randomly going crazy today, because check it: bizarre bright-red cocktail dress, complicated hairdo with a side ponytail, and makeup that looks like a little girl playing dressup for the first time. This is because Tara is a little girl playing dressup for the first time. She's putting this on like armor, to be a big girl, drunk as shit, wearing makeup nobody taught her to apply, because she never had a mother.
"HEY GIRLFRIENDS WHAT'S UP!" she screams, blowing everybody's minds. They're like, "You look ... amazing." She looks like a cocaine nightmare from the '80s crossed with a teenager's vision of streetwalker hos. She is fully incredible. Tara gestures to her ridiculous dress like Romy: "PROM NIGHT 2000. AIN'T WORE IT SINCE." She gulps her drink and rocks unsteadily on her heels. I love Tara Thornton so fucking much. Amy's not blinked once since she tottered up. "Well... It still fits you?" Tara nods blearily and Sookie stands, dragging her cartoonish circus slut friend off for a little talk about self-destructive crazy. "Tara, come here. I've never seen you like this. Is this because of Sam?" From deep inside Tara summons an eloquent The Fuck You Say face, and Sookie explains she saw Tara and Sam macking in the office. "IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS," Tara blurps, and Sookie -- for about sixteen reasons -- tells her dating Sam is maybe not the greatest idea, and Tara points out that Sam's not into, for example, sucking her blood. Sookie wanders away, of course, because you never call a fangbanger one to her face, and Tara forlornly calls after her. When the witch puts a knife in your hand it's classic misdirection: something shiny over here so you don't see the trick over there. When you look at your demon you've got two choices: kill it, or dance with it. If she'd danced with that little girl, she would have been impervious to the disappointment of Nancy -- it wouldn't matter that God isn't a drugstore, that wholeness can't be bought. But she killed her, and now she really is possessed. If the vamps told us one thing when they came out the coffin it's this: we don't bury our dead. We learn to love them.