Bear with me for just a moment while I’m listening to Pawn Shop Blues and let’s think about the first time Deanna is truly alone. And you’d think she’s used to the pain of John dropping off the radar by now. That childhood pain, the sucking void of waking up from a nightmare with nobody in the other bed to comfort you. But if that feeling ever got more bearable in the past decades, it’s overlapping with the fact that Sam left. One at a time might’ve been bearable, but she has no mechanism to deal with that double loss. Helpless to stop Sam from leaving, too useless to be brought along by John, she’s truly, entirely alone.
And she gets it! She’s brought up to be left behind by John. That’s not new at this point (even though a weaker, more desperate person would ask why? Why now? Can’t I please come along just once? What am I supposed to do now that there’s nobody left to take care of?) And of course she gets it with Sam, too. It’s nice to love and be loved, but it’s better to know all you can know. Who is she to stop either of them, really? Those decisions happened somewhere far above her head, somewhere far removed from her.
I think the worst part of it is that she’d maintain her usability. She spends her days training, cleaning her weapons, reading, waiting. A constant inbetween state where she keeps the knife sharp in anticipation of someone coming by to use it.
And of course she can’t leave the town John left her in, no matter that she has the car. Because what if he comes back and she’s gone? And she can’t take a job, because what if he calls and she has to drop everything? What if someone needs her and she can’t be there in time because she was too wrapped up in herself? So she trains and reads and cleans and waits and barely sleeps, which is fine, she can’t anyways, and barely eats, which is fine, she’s not hungry, and pays for the motel room and trains and reads and cleans and waits. And she tries, she tries, but she still has to eat. She should be using the money on the room (she needs to stay in case John comes back) and to keep Baby’s tank filled (in case she has to leave), but she has to eat, unfortunately, and she can’t work, because she has to make sure she’s ready and worthy of being used. So she scoops out what’s left of her, the pieces that aren’t part of the weapon. The Deanna-stuff, useless and left behind. A bracelet some ex gave her at some point. Earrings she got from John a thousand birthdays ago. And she’s standing in the pawn shop, tears between her top lashes, a white knuckled grip around the amulet around her neck, and watches as those golden flowers are counted up against a very small stack of bills.
There’s a glance at the amulet, out of the corner of the eye. “I can’t give you much for that old thing.” — “No, thanks. That’s not for sale.”
Well, I didn’t know it’d come to this
But that’s what happens when you’re on your own
And you’re alright with letting nice things go
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