FORTY-ONE
* * *
Doors. You don't notice them, usually. They're one of those things that are just there, and you pass through them every day a hundred times without thinking a thing of it.
But doors are important. They are boundaries, markers. They distinguish space; here it is inside, there it is out. Here it is a room, there a hallway. Here it is sacred, there profane.
Doors. Boundaries.
Here it is a cell, there freedom.
Buffy noticed the doors, each one, as she walked through them. By special order they had eschewed a wheelchair. Past the common room, past the nurse's station, through the heavy doors at the end of the ward. Down a hall and through more doors to an elevator, then out again and into another hall. She was dressed simply as she walked, in the wrinkled hospital pants and top, her hair combed but dirty. Her hands were empty; she had no possessions, nothing physical to take from this place.
Her eyes were a bit glazed, indicating the familiar look of medication. But they saw despite this, her eyes did, and they made note of every door, of every step through, each step bringing a growing sense of triumph and fear.
A moment or two at the front desk, her lone escort beside her. Papers being signed. Giles took care of this, Mom signing where things needed to be signed, Dad doing likewise. Then Mom or Dad or Giles turned to her and spoke.
"That's it, then."
She walked beside them and through the final door. The sun was out, shining bright, obscured behind clouds that warned of rain in the growing drizzle. Buffy lifted her head at this, felt the warmth, felt the cold wetness for a few seconds before Giles produced his umbrella and they stepped forward.
"Isn't it a beautiful day, honey?" Mom asked.
Buffy nodded.
And they, the others, all of them, were there.
#
They called her name, again and again, as though not quite believing that it was really her. Under the warm sun with the cold rain falling, rain threatening, they were there and there was her name.
"Buffy!"
And more than her name there came the hugs, the tight, emphatic, never-let-me-go hugs, and the weeping, too, because there was Xander, his face warm with relief and recent tears, and Dawn too, not even waiting for him to let her go. Tara, her face radiant with hope and love and joy, holding her too.
Because it was Mom and Dad, and they were holding her and it was all coming out now, all of it, in words that came to Buffy in a rush, filling her and immersing her. I am alive. I live in the world; the world that is.
Not good. Not bad.
Just is.
And I know this, have always known this, will always know this.
I am alive.
The others drew back for a moment and Buffy looked out, and there was Cynthia, crying as she reached for her, as she held her. This embrace was long, for this was Buffy's best and truest friend in all the world, and the embrace was good and good and good, and then finally Buffy drew back for air, and as she did Willow did too, drew back from the hug and smiled at her.
Willow.
Yes.
And the words, her own words, returned, and in them there was truth.
Sometimes, just sometimes ... maybe.
Buffy saw, then, as she looked at Willow, that this truth was meaning. It was purpose. It was cause. For this truth all others could be, and must be, endured.
You are my best and truest friend.
Giles kept the umbrella steady over them, Dad smiling at her in the sunlight, and Mom looked at the threatening clouds and then back at the two girls. Buffy turned, looking back at the hospital door, where a man stood silently in the warm sunlight.
Her eyes, despite the drugs, said more than words could.
Thank you.
The man smiled gently, proudly. He nodded slightly in understanding.
#
Buffy turned again, took a step off the curb, then another. It was a bright, sunny day, the sun hidden by clouds that threatened to rain as the rain fell now in torrents. It was reality, and she saw it all, and as she moved the fear came again, but it was a known fear. Tomorrow, she knew, there would be pain and uncertainty. There would be sorrow and danger, but most of all there would be the challenge that was the world, that was all worlds, that was life itself. There would be the weight tomorrow, the weight of remembering her meds, of fighting vampires and demons, of the horror and the reality that was her sickness, that was the Hellmouth, that was knowing that all life, regardless, is a gamble.
Tomorrow.
But that was tomorrow. Today there were her friends, her family. Today there was love, of them for her, of her for them. Today was today.
And it was good.
THE END
* * *
Doors. You don't notice them, usually. They're one of those things that are just there, and you pass through them every day a hundred times without thinking a thing of it.
But doors are important. They are boundaries, markers. They distinguish space; here it is inside, there it is out. Here it is a room, there a hallway. Here it is sacred, there profane.
Doors. Boundaries.
Here it is a cell, there freedom.
Buffy noticed the doors, each one, as she walked through them. By special order they had eschewed a wheelchair. Past the common room, past the nurse's station, through the heavy doors at the end of the ward. Down a hall and through more doors to an elevator, then out again and into another hall. She was dressed simply as she walked, in the wrinkled hospital pants and top, her hair combed but dirty. Her hands were empty; she had no possessions, nothing physical to take from this place.
Her eyes were a bit glazed, indicating the familiar look of medication. But they saw despite this, her eyes did, and they made note of every door, of every step through, each step bringing a growing sense of triumph and fear.
A moment or two at the front desk, her lone escort beside her. Papers being signed. Giles took care of this, Mom signing where things needed to be signed, Dad doing likewise. Then Mom or Dad or Giles turned to her and spoke.
"That's it, then."
She walked beside them and through the final door. The sun was out, shining bright, obscured behind clouds that warned of rain in the growing drizzle. Buffy lifted her head at this, felt the warmth, felt the cold wetness for a few seconds before Giles produced his umbrella and they stepped forward.
"Isn't it a beautiful day, honey?" Mom asked.
Buffy nodded.
And they, the others, all of them, were there.
#
They called her name, again and again, as though not quite believing that it was really her. Under the warm sun with the cold rain falling, rain threatening, they were there and there was her name.
"Buffy!"
And more than her name there came the hugs, the tight, emphatic, never-let-me-go hugs, and the weeping, too, because there was Xander, his face warm with relief and recent tears, and Dawn too, not even waiting for him to let her go. Tara, her face radiant with hope and love and joy, holding her too.
Because it was Mom and Dad, and they were holding her and it was all coming out now, all of it, in words that came to Buffy in a rush, filling her and immersing her. I am alive. I live in the world; the world that is.
Not good. Not bad.
Just is.
And I know this, have always known this, will always know this.
I am alive.
The others drew back for a moment and Buffy looked out, and there was Cynthia, crying as she reached for her, as she held her. This embrace was long, for this was Buffy's best and truest friend in all the world, and the embrace was good and good and good, and then finally Buffy drew back for air, and as she did Willow did too, drew back from the hug and smiled at her.
Willow.
Yes.
And the words, her own words, returned, and in them there was truth.
Sometimes, just sometimes ... maybe.
Buffy saw, then, as she looked at Willow, that this truth was meaning. It was purpose. It was cause. For this truth all others could be, and must be, endured.
You are my best and truest friend.
Giles kept the umbrella steady over them, Dad smiling at her in the sunlight, and Mom looked at the threatening clouds and then back at the two girls. Buffy turned, looking back at the hospital door, where a man stood silently in the warm sunlight.
Her eyes, despite the drugs, said more than words could.
Thank you.
The man smiled gently, proudly. He nodded slightly in understanding.
#
Buffy turned again, took a step off the curb, then another. It was a bright, sunny day, the sun hidden by clouds that threatened to rain as the rain fell now in torrents. It was reality, and she saw it all, and as she moved the fear came again, but it was a known fear. Tomorrow, she knew, there would be pain and uncertainty. There would be sorrow and danger, but most of all there would be the challenge that was the world, that was all worlds, that was life itself. There would be the weight tomorrow, the weight of remembering her meds, of fighting vampires and demons, of the horror and the reality that was her sickness, that was the Hellmouth, that was knowing that all life, regardless, is a gamble.
Tomorrow.
But that was tomorrow. Today there were her friends, her family. Today there was love, of them for her, of her for them. Today was today.
And it was good.
THE END
