Chapter 28
All I Know So Far
“Good to see you, Katherine. Please, come in.”
“I’m glad you had time, Eric.”
“Of course. Gracie, say hi to Katherine.”
“Let’s sit in the dining room.”
I show her the way, knowing well how completely unnecessary it is. Not much has changed since we held Freya’s 12th birthday here a couple of months ago. There’s a knot in my stomach. Katherine had only said that we needed to talk. She promised that it wasn’t bad news, but I’m worried. She didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.
“Hi Grace! Oh, she’s gotten so big! Can I hold her?”
I study Katherine as she lavishes attention on my youngest daughter. Her smile, the usual faint glimmer of sadness in her eyes when she looks at Grace.
I clear my throat, eager to get to the point of her visit.
“I was home anyway – my partner Aarav is running the clinic alone for the week while Cecilia is helping her brother move to Henford. After their mother died… even though they were divorced, her father took it hard, so her brother is moving over there.”
“I’m sorry to hear. I spoke to Cecilia’s family briefly at your wedding, they all seemed so nice.”
“Yeah. Cecilia said she’d prefer not to have Grace there with all the chaos and grief, so we decided I should stay home.”
Katherine nods. Then she smiles at me and places her hand on the table. The ring is enormous.
“Eric… Conrad proposed. We’re getting married.”
I put my hand on hers.
“That’s great, Katherine! Congratulations, I’m happy for you both.”
I try to sound cheerful, but she and Conrad have lived together for years. She didn’t come just to tell me that, and I’m still anxious.
“Thanks… but that’s why I needed to talk to you. About Freya.”
Grace picks up on the sudden shift in mood. Katherine’s smile fades a little as she reluctantly lets my squirming daughter down.
“Katherine, is everything OK?”
“Yes, nothing’s wrong – Conrad has been offered a lead role in a television series. It’s a huge opportunity, especially this late in his career… and he wants me to move with him. To Del Sol Valley.”
I feel my breath catch in my chest.
“Oh. What about Freya?”
“Well, I don’t want to take her away from her school and everything she knows, or from you and her sister. So I was wondering… maybe she could live with you for a while?”
The relief washes over me.
“Really? I mean, of course! I would love for her to live here, are you kidding me? But – will you be OK without her?”
Katherine sighs.
“I will miss her like crazy. And I’ll travel back to visit when I can, and she can visit us, of course… but I’m turning 50 soon. And Freya is almost a teenager, and as you well know, she’s a handful. I can’t keep up with her.”
“I… dammit, Eric, I would like to just be in love and enjoy life and lounge by the pool while my sexy husband serves me margaritas before I get too old. Is that too much to ask?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m a horrible mother.”
“No, Katherine. You’re a great mother.”
I pull her up.
“Listen, not only did you give me our daughter, you raised her almost by yourself for years while I was completely useless. It’s only fair that I take over for a while so you can be the irresponsible one for once. And nothing would make me happier than having Freya here full time. I’ll talk to Cecilia first, of course, but I’m sure she’ll agree.”
“Thank you, Eric.”
“No, thank you.”
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Mark a Tree so You Know Where You've Been
Aisling uses her pocket knife to carve her initial into a tree so she can know where she's been. Her head hurts, but aside from that, she doesn't seem to be injured anywhere. Having checked to make sure she's at least relatively okay, she skins the woods around her for any hints to where she is, and how she got here.
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(still frames under the cut cause the gif crunched the quality)
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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I find it deeply aesthetically pleasing, character-wise, that Arthur and Merlin are both very much like their mothers, which is especially meaningful in Arthur's case since he's never known his mother beyond a single painfully brief meeting in "Sins of the Father."
Not only does Arthur look like Ygraine (which adds several layers to the clusterfuck of his and Uther's relationship) but it's clear that he takes after her temperament, too. Yes, he sometimes shows his father's temper, and yes, he does stupid things when he's in a temper, but unlike Uther, who literally took his prejudices to his grave and beyond, Arthur never stays mad at people, and he's overall a far more caring and kind person than his father, which is an interesting case of nature vs nurture.
And then on the other hand, we have Hunith, who told a mounted, armed brigand to go fuck himself, later fought another (also armed) brigand with a twig broom, harboured fugitives on multiple occasions, and raised an illegal magic child out of wedlock, and Merlin "Fuck the Police" Ambrosius, who got in a fistfight, got thrown in jail for the fistfight, called the prince a bitch to his face in a public market square, got in a second, armed fight all within his first 48 hours in Camelot, and then committed treason on a daily basis for the next 10+ years, compared to Balinor, who became a weird antisocial hermit that lived in a cave for twenty years.
couldn't have said it better myself bestie
also, there's a reason hunith and ygraine never met in the show. their dynamic duo would outshine everyone, they'd be unstoppable, untouchable, I FEEL ROBBED
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