Sookie pops some B-12 in Sam's office, dumb on many levels, and Sam asks what she's up to; he's never seen her taking vitamins judiciously before. She never had a reason. "SO WHAT?" She asks, nasty. "YOU'VE NEVER SEEN ME PUT ON DEODORANT! OR WASH MY HAIR! OR FEED MY CAT! HAVE YOU? BUT I DO ALL THOSE THINGS! I DON'T NEED A PERMISSION SLIP FROM YOU!" He's like, the hell? He checks the shelf and realizes what it is: what he's taking from her, what she's giving away. He slams the bottle against the hearth in frustration, and the pills go everywhere. And he starts picking them up again.
Amy's off work and closed down when she gets in Jason's truck after the lunch shift; he tries on the Buddha for size. "Good day?" The thing that we say to the little woman, when our life together stretches into infinity. Amy rocks, calmly but on the edge, and spits it out: "I need V," she admits. "What? I thought you said you didn't need any again until... You needed it again." Um, yeah. "Well, I need it. Okay?" voice sharper now; he's unconvinced; he's high on something else. He is good, and wise, and no longer alone. Something like a replacement for Dawn, but without that betrayal, without the fangbanging, without the secrets: they do V together. Nothing hidden, everything permitted. "Look me in the eye. Tell me that you don't want it too." Well of course he does. It's the answer to everything, it's salvation. Me, you, the bed, the house. "Of course I do, but Lafayette won't sell it to me." Amy nods, and thinks, and all those lovely athletic muscles of her brain turn into something new. Squirrel eats nuts, snake eats the squirrel, gator eats the snake. Something's eating Amy.
Did you see Southland Tales? It's a gorgeous hot mess, like Donnie Darko, with a million threads you can follow. But the most heartwrenching was this: our boys come home and we give them God in a drug vial. Liquid karma. Sound familiar? And when they shoot it, oh, the tawdry heavens they create: dancing girls and mugs of beer, skeeball and visions of their own unscarred faces. God's not the answer to your life, He's the question you spend your life asking: Amy's engineered her entire soul around an artificial state of life, and hasn't figured out a way to get there on her own. V blows the doors off the barn and introduces you to the bed, the house; opens up every passageway and fills it with love. And if she could do it on her own -- if she didn't need V -- she'd be halfway there. She could have love, and glory, and grace. But instead she's found salvation.