Episode Report Card Jacob Clifton: A+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT We Are The Table
By Jacob Clifton | Season 4 | Episode 13 | Aired on 09.08.2008
Somebody like Celia is going to see Amends as a step toward making everybody like you again: that it's about getting forgiveness from somebody else. That somebody else gives you permission to be a worthless shit, and they "forgive" you, and it's all about them, it's a game you can play. To apologize until people shut up about their grudges, because if they don't say it, you don't have to think about it. An addict is going to see this as the nicest step, because it takes all your problems away. Just like drugs used to.
But the other essential truth is (as usual) the opposite truth: you are the table. You are the part of the world for which you're responsible. Amends is the scariest step of all, because it takes all this internal inventory that you've been supposedly building up, and subjects it to market testing. It asks you to reforge those links with the outside world, and let them validate whether or not you've overcome yourself. It asks them to shit all over your fake healing, if fake is what it is. It helps you to understand, as an addict, that the real world and everybody in it are your control group. You let the bear eat you and the table becomes an altar, but eventually you are measured against your fellows, and rejoin the human race. Your sanity depends on integrating yourself into the integrity of everybody else; your life depends on an infinity of tables.
Andy turns the taps for her and she lies against the side of the tub, as the truth flows out of her in one unending flash flood. She paints him a portrait of the life and all the danger and the secrets; it's a sign of respect that has been long coming, but it's more than that. It's amends, to the world, to her family, to her partner. It's confession, which accomplishes the same thing on a weekly basis for some people -- see the candles everywhere? -- and it's last rites, because she's going to die. When she finishes this story, she'll be lighter than air, and then she will die. She only has one secret left. Andy listens, and watches her. She asks him a question, and thinks, and speaks again. He turns the taps on for her, to warm up the bath again. She realizes something, suddenly, cocks her head like a bird and realizes something precious. That's the gold inside the story she's telling. That's what was sitting on top of the table, the whole time, in plain sight. He nods. She weeps for her own stupidity. For the bear, and how she misses him.
Doug brushes pretzels off a TV tray and sits to write a note. "Dear Dana. I can't believe how different Ren Mar is than Agrestic; how fast things move, down by the ocean. I saw a surfer once when I was a kid, but now they're everywhere. Beach went and got itself in a big damn hurry. Found myself a crappy stupid apartment off the boardwalk. Nothing fancy, but it does the job. I have trouble sleeping. Bed's too short. I have bad dreams, like I'm falling, or I live in Africa with the monkeys. I wake up scared." Doug arranges the placement of a chair in the center of his room; retrieves a noose from a pre-tied noose-selling store. "Sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am. Since losing you, I've lost all sense of joy and pleasure." He looks up and tosses the rope over a pipe that runs down the middle of his room. "Only one thing left to do." Doug settles his head into the noose, and tightens it. His eyes close.