"Look, it ain't fear, all right? It's just..." he whispers in her ear. "He's looking me right in the eye." Another barrel I can't jump. She shrugs and says she'll see him when she gets back; when she drops it Eddie closes his eyes. How gross to actually be there and feel yourself spreading through their muscles like that? She can't even stay vertical. Jason's impressed, turned on, curious, into it, watching her, and Jason watches Eddie looking at her, as she pulls off another dose. "Come on, baby. Come with me..." And Eddie, stupidly, tosses another barrel, begging him not to do it. Which is all it takes. "I said don't talk to me," Jason hisses, and toasts him with it. Eddie sadly watches as Jason drops the thimble of his blood, and reaches out for a moment to touch her hair before falling back, hands in the air, like a statue.
Tara sits in Miss Jeanette's voice, still wondering which side to fall on. Was it a possum or was it a heist? Why does it still hurt? Why can't she forget, like Lettie Mae? Is that a demon? "You were here. You saw it." Tara nods, but wants something concrete. Which is never going to fly, and she's grabbing at straws. Frankly the whole conversation creeps me out because it seems to betray a basic inability to understand how you yourself work, which is to say that it's neither and it's both. We live in a symbolic universe where everything is both magical and mundane. When you fall in love, that's taking energy out of yourself and putting it somewhere else; when you hate something impossibly you're doing the same thing. Crone-stone or rehab group session, you're still taking the bad scary stuff out and looking at it honestly, which is all it requires. Singing the night that made you: in the symbolic universe where we spend our waking and sleeping hours, the Quest isn't a metaphor for therapy -- therapy is a metaphor for the Quest.
"Fine, then. It's like this. Your mind, your... Your body, it's just a physical manifestation of your soul. And your soul is sick." Tara says that no, her "soul" is actually preoccupied with not getting ripped off. Miss Jeanette nods. "How's your Momma doing?" Tara admits she's doing great, but then, Lettie Mae believes in "shit like this," and Tara doesn't. Instead of pointing to the bus, the sky, her bra, the rocks, electricity, Miss Jeanette goes for the logical argument: "If you don't believe, then why'd you come all the way out here tonight?" Because we desire wholeness, because we know there's a better world than being afraid, because there is something in us that wants to be whole and won't stop until we try. She has no answer. "How much it'll cost me?" Miss Jeanette tells her, without hesitation: "$799.95." Tara's as shocked by the quick answer as by the amount, but Jeanette's sanguine: "Cup of rum's on the house." Prices like that, it better be.