If she died, she could go up into the burning snow, higher into the dark clouds, dark as sleep. She could go looking for Mother and Cary and Kenneth and Howard. They probably weren’t in the clouds, but she knew they weren’t dead—
Suzy frowned. If they weren’t dead, then how could she find them by dying? She was so stupid. She hated being stupid. She had always hated it.
And yet—Mother had always told her that she was a wonderful person, and did as well as she could (though there was always better to aspire for). Suzy had grown up liking herself, liking others, and she didn’t really want to become somebody else, or something else—just to—
She didn’t want to change just to be better. Though there was always better to aspire for.
It was very confused. Everything was changing. Dying would be changing. If she didn’t mind that, then—
The snow was making a sound outside. She listened at the window and heard a pleasant drone like bees in a field of flowers. A warm sound for a cold sight.
“How strange,” she said. “Yes, how strange, how strange.” She began to sing the words but the song was silly and didn’t say what she was feeling, which was—
Accepting.
Perhaps it wasn’t the snow making the sound, but a wind. She wiped the condensation from the window and went back to the bed to turn out the light so she could see better. If the snow was blowing one way or another, then it was wind making the sound. It didn’t sound like wind.
Accepting, and lonely.
Where was Laurie? Where everybody was. Inside, staring out at the snow, just like her. But Laurie probably had Yves with her. It wasn’t good to be lonely on the– she unexpectedly sobbed and gulped it back yes, it was she could feel it
–the last night of the world.
“Whew,” she said, spreading the gown and sitting on one of the table chairs. She wiped her eyes. That had snuck up on her. She was just being crazy. Stupid, as always.
Not afraid, though.
Accepting.
The wardrobe door creaked and she turned to look at it, half expecting to see Narnia behind the clothes. (She had liked the apartment—the flat—right away, because of the wardrobe.)
It was snowing inside the wardrobe. Flecks of light moved over the clothes. She shivered and stood up slowly, straightened out her gown, and one step at a time approached the wardrobe. Confetti light played over the interior, the wood at the back, the clothes, even the hangers.
She pulled the door open wider and looked at herself in the mirror. Behind the glass, she was surrounded by bright bubbles of light, like millions of ginger ale sparkles.
Suzy leaned forward. The face in the mirror was not hers, exactly. She touched her lips, then reached up and met finger tips—cold, glassy—with the image.
The cold and glassy faded. The finger tips became warm.
Suzy backed away until she came up against the chair.
The image stepped out of the mirror, smiling at her.
Not just herself. Her mother, too. Her grandmother. And maybe great grandmother, and great-great. Mostly Suzy, but them, also. All in one. They smiled at her.
Suzy reached behind to zip the dress higher. The image held her arms open and she was mostly Suzy’s mother and Suzy ran forward and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, against the green velvety strap of the gown. She didn’t cry.
“Let’s use the wardrobe,” she said, her voice muffled.
The image—more Suzy now—shook her head and took Suzy by the hand. Then Suzy remembered. When the transformed city had gone away, leaving her stranded—after she had refused to go with Gary and everybody else—she had felt twinned.
They had copied her. Xeroxed her.
Taken the copy with them, just in case.
And now they had brought her back to meet the original Suzy. The copy had changed, and changed wonderfully. She was all Suzy, and all her mother, and all the others individually, but together.
The image led Suzy toward the rear wall of the flat, away from the window. They stood up on the bed, smiling at each other.
Ready? the image asked silently.
Suzy looked back over her shoulder at the buzzing snow, then felt the warm, solid grip. How many handshakes from someone in America?
Why, no handshake at all.
“Are we going to be slow, where we’re going?” Suzy asked.
No, the image mouthed, entirely Suzy now. Suzy could see it in her eyes. Cary had been right. They fixed people.
“Good. I’m awful tired of being slow.”
The image held up her hand, and together they ripped away the wallpaper. It was easy. The wall just opened up and the paper just curled away.
There was snow beyond the wall, but not like the snow beyond the window. This snow was far more beautiful.
There must have been a million flakes for everyone alive. Everyone dancing together.
“We’re not going to use the wardrobe?” Suzy asked.
It doesn’t go where we’re going, the image said. Together, they hunkered down, get ready, get set—
And sprang from the bed, through the opening in the wall.
The building trembled, as if somewhere a big door had slammed. In the night, the burning flakes of snow danced their Brownian dance. The black clouds above became transparent and Suzy saw all directions at once. It was a delightful and scary way to see.
The storm abated just before dawn. The earth was very quiet as the hemisphere of darkness passed away.
The day began fitfully, casting a long gray-orange glow on the waveless ocean and still land. Concentric rings of light fled from the dimming sun.
Suzy looked a long ways outward. (She was so tiny, and yet she could see everywhere, see very big things!)
The inner planets cast long shadows through an enveloping haze. The outer planets wavered in their orbits, and then blossomed in kaleidoscopic splendor, extending cold luminous arms to welcome their prodigal moons home.
The Earth, for the space of a long, trembling sigh, held together in the maelstrom. When its time came, the cities, towns and villages—the homes and huts and tents—were as empty as shed cocoons.
The Noosphere shook loose its wings. Where the wings touched, the stars themselves danced, celebrated, became burning flakes of snow.
Interphase:
Thought Universe
Michael Bernard, nineteen and yet not, sat in the Klamshak opposite Olivia. Over their booth hung the weary blowfish and plastic lobster and cork floats, not very original.
She had just told him about the break-up of her engagement.
He looked down at the table, sensing a very different potential between them now. The way had been cleared.
“Good dinner,” Olivia said, folding her hands behind her plate, strewn with oyster shells and shrimp tails. “Thank you. I was very glad when you called.”
“I just felt silly,” Bernard said. “I acted like a real ninny last time.”
“No. You were very gallant.”
“Gallant. Hm.” He laughed.
“I’m okay, really. It was a shock at first, but…”
“It must have been.”
“You know, when he told me, I just thought of coming back to school and getting on with things. Like breaking an engagement was nothing at all. It only hurt when he left. And then I thought of you.”
“Will you give me another chance?” Olivia smiled. “Only if you can keep me feeling as good as I do now.”