Max never felt sorry for her, but wanted to protect her. That was hard because she had her own little chaos and Max was chaos personified. Some days. Most nights.
Suki and Max, at some star-crossed time, had this mutual-protection-unspoken-pact between them that led them both to the brink of destruction – well, while Suki tended to come to the edge because of Max, Max led himself there rather often. They’d get to the edge, get nearly destroyed, and then walk away, with some bruises and cuts and scrapes, and maybe missing a limb.
Max would recover and get into some adventure again (more likely a ‘situation’) and Suki would rise to some other level of maturity or development or awareness or consciousness or some something self-aggrandizing like that. Except she would not really see herself that way. But deep down in her versions, her selves, her plurealities, she grew deeper and deeper, older and older, wiser and wiser.
To you and me, she was just Suki, someone to watch as she negotiated her way through the stars, someone who was cute, but in that ‘little kid’ kind of way – maybe like a little sister – a little sister who could just as easily pull an Uzi or furnish a switchblade to slit your jugular.
How can you want to be near someone to protect them and yet at the same time, be a little scared of them? That’s Suki. Cute and Cutting.
No comments:
Post a Comment