THIRTY-NINE
* * *
She drew back, surprised. Crazy, they all said. She had always heard it, from those days in school when things had started to go wrong, when she was first called to be the slayer and everyone looked at her and giggled at her behind her back because she carried a stake in her purse. The days in Sunnydale, when Cordelia and Harmony and even Xander and Willow looked at her like she was mad. And even with the love, there were the faces of Mom and Dad and Cynthia, and these faces told all.
Crazy. Crazy Buffy.
Garrett was watching her closely. She realized as he did that this was her last defense, held deep and dear, her last hope that it could all make sense, that all the contradictions in reality could be rationalized, that all the years of who she was could really be.
But the breach was made. She moved quickly to seal it.
"I am," she said weakly. "You know I am."
He shook his head.
"No. You are sane, Buffy. Sick, yes, and your sickness makes reality confusing and difficult sometimes. But I see past that now. I see the real you. I see it through the pain. There's no hiding anymore."
Buffy drew up her knees, pulled her arms to her chest defensively, the way she had used to do. Just sit. Just sit. If you just sit he can't hurt you. You can just sit and then it will be all right. You will save the world, will save Mom and Willow and Xander and Giles, you will wear that beautiful gown and the necklace Dad gave you and go to the prom with Cynthia and Robert and Chad. You will be all right, Buffy, if you just sit.
There will be no pain.
But Willow is dead. Mom is dead. Dad is dead.
The pain is everywhere.
"Please ...." she whispered, but there was no escaping now.
Garrett was smiling, just a bit, and he nodded slightly.
"You see it too, don't you, Buffy?"
"No!" she cried.
"Yes." Garrett sighed now, a sigh that told of relief, of calm. And after a moment he spoke again. "You know, Buffy, there are patients in this hospital who think life is perfect, that it always has to have a happy ending. They dream of heaven and insist that it is right here, right now. Every thought they have tells them that the world must be flawless. Everything has to fit their idea of the perfect family, the perfect town, the perfect friends, the perfect loves. Nothing must ever really go wrong, and everything must be solved easily and simply. There is no gray in their lives; if it isn't good, it's bad. Some of them have spent their lives trying to force their families and friends into molds that will make them perfect, sterile, antiseptic, and they have destroyed their friends and families and themselves by doing so, and they don't even know it until it's too late. Their realities are pain free, and dead."
Dead. Buffy was trembling now, held in place by his awful words as they dug deeply into her.
"And they are crazy," Garrett said. "They are the ones who can't see reality. But not you."
It was silent for a time. Then Buffy asked the question that had never gone away.
"What is real?"
Garrett shrugged. "Does it matter? I think this place is real, but I've got a bias. Reality is as much what you make it as it is atoms and molecules. Whatever realities you have, Buffy, they all share the one thing that makes you sane."
It came to her then, realization, and she spoke.
"The pain?"
"Yes. The pain. The honest, real pain. Somewhere, despite the schizophrenia and despite being fantasy prone, there is that Buffy Summers who understands that life isn't perfect. She understands that life has pain and risk and uncertainty, and that these things are a part of life. She also understands that without pain, joy loses its meaning. Maybe you create every reality you experience, including this one, including the reality where you are a slayer, including the reality where you just went to the prom. Maybe the real Buffy Summers is somewhere else entirely. Being fantasy prone means you can do this. Having schizophrenia means you may get lost in one or more of these universes. But in every one of these created universes, Buffy, you always create as well the reality of good and bad. You refuse to accept a universe that isn't honest, and that is a sign that you are sane, despite your sickness. You understand that if every story has to have a happy ending, there is no point in having stories at all."
Buffy suddenly felt the tears come, and she brought her hands up to her face and sobbed. Because it was true, and there was no hiding from this truth. I am Buffy Summers, she thought. I am she. Whatever else exists, there is always her.
And he's right. She knows what reality really is.
She sobbed again, though, because there was no escape now, not now or ever. It did not matter where she was, what life she led or chose to lead, because pain would always be there. Garrett handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose, looking up at him in the anguish of her realization.
"But sometimes, just sometimes ... maybe?" she asked.
Garrett understood and nodded. "Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes good happens too. Sometimes miracles happen. Just as there is pain in the universe, there is also joy. Pain without joy would also be meaningless. Not all endings need to be sad ones."
* * *
She drew back, surprised. Crazy, they all said. She had always heard it, from those days in school when things had started to go wrong, when she was first called to be the slayer and everyone looked at her and giggled at her behind her back because she carried a stake in her purse. The days in Sunnydale, when Cordelia and Harmony and even Xander and Willow looked at her like she was mad. And even with the love, there were the faces of Mom and Dad and Cynthia, and these faces told all.
Crazy. Crazy Buffy.
Garrett was watching her closely. She realized as he did that this was her last defense, held deep and dear, her last hope that it could all make sense, that all the contradictions in reality could be rationalized, that all the years of who she was could really be.
But the breach was made. She moved quickly to seal it.
"I am," she said weakly. "You know I am."
He shook his head.
"No. You are sane, Buffy. Sick, yes, and your sickness makes reality confusing and difficult sometimes. But I see past that now. I see the real you. I see it through the pain. There's no hiding anymore."
Buffy drew up her knees, pulled her arms to her chest defensively, the way she had used to do. Just sit. Just sit. If you just sit he can't hurt you. You can just sit and then it will be all right. You will save the world, will save Mom and Willow and Xander and Giles, you will wear that beautiful gown and the necklace Dad gave you and go to the prom with Cynthia and Robert and Chad. You will be all right, Buffy, if you just sit.
There will be no pain.
But Willow is dead. Mom is dead. Dad is dead.
The pain is everywhere.
"Please ...." she whispered, but there was no escaping now.
Garrett was smiling, just a bit, and he nodded slightly.
"You see it too, don't you, Buffy?"
"No!" she cried.
"Yes." Garrett sighed now, a sigh that told of relief, of calm. And after a moment he spoke again. "You know, Buffy, there are patients in this hospital who think life is perfect, that it always has to have a happy ending. They dream of heaven and insist that it is right here, right now. Every thought they have tells them that the world must be flawless. Everything has to fit their idea of the perfect family, the perfect town, the perfect friends, the perfect loves. Nothing must ever really go wrong, and everything must be solved easily and simply. There is no gray in their lives; if it isn't good, it's bad. Some of them have spent their lives trying to force their families and friends into molds that will make them perfect, sterile, antiseptic, and they have destroyed their friends and families and themselves by doing so, and they don't even know it until it's too late. Their realities are pain free, and dead."
Dead. Buffy was trembling now, held in place by his awful words as they dug deeply into her.
"And they are crazy," Garrett said. "They are the ones who can't see reality. But not you."
It was silent for a time. Then Buffy asked the question that had never gone away.
"What is real?"
Garrett shrugged. "Does it matter? I think this place is real, but I've got a bias. Reality is as much what you make it as it is atoms and molecules. Whatever realities you have, Buffy, they all share the one thing that makes you sane."
It came to her then, realization, and she spoke.
"The pain?"
"Yes. The pain. The honest, real pain. Somewhere, despite the schizophrenia and despite being fantasy prone, there is that Buffy Summers who understands that life isn't perfect. She understands that life has pain and risk and uncertainty, and that these things are a part of life. She also understands that without pain, joy loses its meaning. Maybe you create every reality you experience, including this one, including the reality where you are a slayer, including the reality where you just went to the prom. Maybe the real Buffy Summers is somewhere else entirely. Being fantasy prone means you can do this. Having schizophrenia means you may get lost in one or more of these universes. But in every one of these created universes, Buffy, you always create as well the reality of good and bad. You refuse to accept a universe that isn't honest, and that is a sign that you are sane, despite your sickness. You understand that if every story has to have a happy ending, there is no point in having stories at all."
Buffy suddenly felt the tears come, and she brought her hands up to her face and sobbed. Because it was true, and there was no hiding from this truth. I am Buffy Summers, she thought. I am she. Whatever else exists, there is always her.
And he's right. She knows what reality really is.
She sobbed again, though, because there was no escape now, not now or ever. It did not matter where she was, what life she led or chose to lead, because pain would always be there. Garrett handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose, looking up at him in the anguish of her realization.
"But sometimes, just sometimes ... maybe?" she asked.
Garrett understood and nodded. "Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes good happens too. Sometimes miracles happen. Just as there is pain in the universe, there is also joy. Pain without joy would also be meaningless. Not all endings need to be sad ones."
