It was over – Narnia and its magic, royalty and even half a life. Susan knew this as soon as the train began to leave the station, the lurch in the car matching the lurch in her heart. For a moment, all she felt was dizziness, contemplating the chasm opening under her feet.
No. This was not to be. She still had a life, a second chance at her childhood and a second chance to achieve the dreams she had given up so long ago when she stumbled into a wardrobe. She had been so young then, so naïve. For a moment, Susan allowed herself to ache for that other past, for the girl she had once been about to experience the awakening of Narnia and all the beauty and clarity.
Narnia was color, and England was black in white, a shadow of the true possibilities and true sunlight. England without Narnia was tolerable, even happy. England after Narnia was doomed to be an eternity as a pale comparison.
The train turned again and Susan found herself thrust against a smaller body. Her sister, Lucy. Sometimes, still, Susan had trouble remembering how young her sister was – or her sister's body. Much of her memories of her sister were when they were older, to a point where the age difference smoothed into nothingness.
"Strange," Lucy was saying to nobody in particular, "how easy it is to forget trains exist, and then suddenly use them as if they are nothing."
Edmund laughed, his voice still boyish and young. "For you, perhaps. I think I'm still in shock."
Trains and electricity were, Susan supposed, small conciliations for a life in England. Traveling and bathing were all so much easier. Suddenly, her body longed for a soak in a bathtub with water perpetually warm.
Her mind found the solution and quite abruptly the chasm seemed less terrifying. It still existed – Susan could hardly forget Narnia for it was a part of her as much as her name. Yet now there was a bridge across the chasm.
It was useless to compare Narnia and England in terms in which Narnia was vastly superior. Unfair and doomed to make her miserable. Susan accepted that England, even in its finest moments of picturesque sunsets and choreographed operas, could never match the sure majesty of every waking moment in Narnia.
If Susan was doomed to a life here in England – and it appeared that she was – she must instead focus on the wonders of what she had, things that Narnia could not offer. A warm bath. The companionship of friends her own age, not intimated by her status as Queen. The marvel quick train travel. The advice and guidance of a father. The comfort and support of a mother.
At the thought of her parents, Susan felt a flood of affection and warmth. Even in Narnia she had missed them, although she perhaps hadn't recognized that longing for what it truly was. Now, the love of her parents was hers once again to embrace.
"Goodbye, Narnia," she whispered softly to the blackness of the underground as it flashed passed.
It was a Tuesday, three weeks after the four had returned from Narnia. Susan lay curled on the great oak bed of their parents, a book in front of her unopened. She had been interrupted by her sister, who was currently gazing sadly at her reflection in the long mirror.
"This hairstyle looks ridiculous on a little girl," Lucy said. She released her fingers and a tumble of thin brown hair fell down to her shoulders. She turned to view herself from the side and sighed disparagingly.
"I don't think I can wait until I'm sixteen to get breasts again," she said. "At least the first time, I kept hoping they'd come sooner. Now I know for sure."
Her sister was clearly missing Narnia. Susan noticed that she was having trouble adjusting not only into her body but also into her role as an ordinary little girl. Royalty had suited Lucy in a way that it never had Susan. She had always felt awkward and separate by her elevated status while Lucy had revealed in it.
"I've always thought that you are pretty, even young. Certainly more beautiful than me."
Predictably, Lucy took argument with that. "Don't say such things!" she exclaimed dramatically throwing herself down on the bed beside her sister. "You are gorgeous. I see how men look at you, and you only get prettier."
"It's my poise, Lu, not my good looks. Those are yours to enjoy, and I don't begrudge you for it."
Lucy was about to reply when Edmund and Peter loudly entered the room. Unlike the girls, neither of them seemed to be struggling to adjust to their second childhood.
"We need you to settle an argument," Edmond began. "The day of the great chess tournament. Do you either of you remember who won? I say it was –"
"Shh!" Peter interrupted. "Don't taint their memories by planting suggestions.
They eagerly pounced on the bed, causing Susan's book to flop onto the floor. She bent down to recover it.
"I wasn't was still sailing home," said Lucy sullenly, her young face making a natural pout. Susan was instantly glad that her sister would shortly outgrow that face.
"Mr. Beaver," Susan said, her tone reflecting the stain of her arm to grab the book. She had misjudged the length of her reach. Again. "He beat you in the championship match, Peter."
Her elder brother looked triumphant. "Ha! I told you!"
A light entered Lucy's eyes, all her earlier worries about her looks forgotten. "We should play Narnia again. The horserace. Except I want a centaur on my team this time. It was absolutely no fair the way you arranged the teams, Ed."
Instantly, an argument erupted between her two younger siblings over the fairness of a race that happened five years ago and another world away. For a moment, Susan was tempted to join, adding in her own memories. Then she stopped.
That door was shut. It would be fun for the time being, but it never allow her to build a happy world here in England.
"I have news," she said suddenly, breaking into the argument. "My friend Alice is turning fourteen" – she stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the thought the youth – "and she has invited us all over to celebrate."
Her siblings silenced. It was unusual for Susan to talk this way, of the future, of a life outside that of Narnia. Even with their parents, they all struggled to find common ground. Perhaps the reason that I have been the one asked to go to America, Susan thought, although she kept those thoughts to herself. None of the others knew of those plans yet.
"A party?" Peter asked. "Su, she's hardly your friend. What do you care about her parties?"
"Not much, now," Susan admitted. "But I'm trying to build a life here. I can't do that if I refuse to allow England in."
"By shutting Narnia out!" Lucy said hotly. "Parties, Alice, other boys….they aren't you. You are Queen Susan."
"No. I was Queen Susan. That was made plain to me. Now I'm just a young girl."
Lucy was insistent. "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always –"
"A King or Queen of Narnia," Susan finished. "I know. And sure, that's always inside me. But let's be honest, what would happen if I started introducing myself as Queen Susan? I would never make any friends, that's for sure."
It was harder than she expected to explain herself to her brothers and sister.
"It's whatever, I guess," said Edmund. "I mean, if you want to go to the party, go. But don't expect us to do the same."
Suddenly, all three were united in their agreement to shut out England in exchange for their memories of Narnia. Susan stared at each of their firm, resolute faces. Once a King or Queen of Narnia… Their decisions were made. But she, too, was a Queen. And she must make her own decisions, based on her own wisdom.
It wasn't always easy being a Queen.
"I hated it there, Susan," Lucy said. "Don't ask me to go again."
It was later, much later, and both girls had grown into the adults they once had been. In appearance, at least. Lucy once again grown into the looks of the family. Only without her title, the natural radiance was lacking. Without her shine, she just appeared sad and fragile.
"There were plenty of men who would have danced with you if you had let them," Susan said, sliding her feet out of her heels.
"Men?" Lucy scoffed. "They are just boys. Not like men in Narnia."
Susan sighed. Her sister still viewed England as a black and white world in comparison to her beloved Narnia.
"Most of them are older than you, Lu. You can't call them boys."
"Technically speaking, yes. But…"
"You just have to give them a chance. They'd like you if you let them see what I see."
Lucy took of her necklace with a vigor and let it hit the bureau with a clatter. "I don't care about them. I don't see why you do so much."
"Unzip me, please," Susan said, turning her back to her sister. They had traveled down this road many times before.
"Besides,"Lucy continued, "if you had heard the frightful things that Anne was saying about me and Edmund. It was the most I could do to be civil!"
Her siblings had never been popular with their age-mates. They always came off as aloof an uninterested, dismissive of the offering of any friendship. Consequently, they had clung to each other and their memories of a better, happier place. When they were together, they were happy.
When, as Susan had suggested to her sister this evening, they joined society, they were deeply miserable.
"I think I hear Peter's car in the drive," Susan said by way of response. Instantly Lucy brightened and she quickly slipped into her long dress, sewn Narnia style. With practiced ease, she did up the laces and fled downstairs, presumably to bemoan English society.
Susan changed slowly into her jeans and jacket. She had one Narnian dress, but she only wore it when they were completely alone and begged by all three of her siblings. Once she allowed herself, it was easy to put on her crown and pretend to be Queen Susan again, with all the world at her disposal. But once she slid out at night, she realized it was just a silly game.
Narnia was real, but continuing it in England was just a fantasy, no more sustaining than a work of fiction. Real life was her friendships, her education, her career, her family.
Except her family was getting harder to connect with, as they existed so far outside of the realm of Susan's normal life. Yet they were family, so Susan hurriedly finished dressing to join them.
It was a relief, almost, after Susan buried her siblings. She wore her Narnian dress and her crown, a quiver of arrows at her back. Her hair ran long and free behind her and she stood barefoot in the grass. She missed them terribly already, like she missed Narnia.
It was a chasm to be crossed. Yet she had already built the bridges.
Goodbye, Edmund. She placed the crown at his grave. May the might of royalty always be with you as you reside with Aslan, for you have the wisdom to see the justice it needs.
At Peter's grave, she removed her arrows. Might the arrows protect your warrior's spirit as you fight for justice and peace, but might you never need them.
Finally, she looked down at the grave of her little sister. Then she slowly slipped out of her gown and laid it on the earth. She had no words. Goodbye, Lucy.
Then she put on her jeans and walked back into England without looking back.
She was a Queen and she had made her decision. There was nothing sad about that.