[It's strange, experiencing all of this from Midge's perspective: to be onstage, in front of all those eyes, and thrive on it. To live it so directly, even through the imperfect lens of memory, is remarkable, if utterly foreign to her own experience.
OA comes out of it beaming, delight, envy, and even a sort of pride -- only half her own -- marrying within her. More distantly, unease: not only is the idea of being under the observation of so many people, particularly men, fraught, but the last time she'd found herself in front of an audience had turned... very strange very quickly.
She hides none of it. There had been a lesson then too, that strange day: even frightening truths are the purview of angels.]
You're good! And brave; some of those felt risky.
[Maybe not risky by her own sensibilities; Midge's reality and her own feel fundamentally different in a number of ways, separated by time and perhaps -- probably -- the boundaries of uncountable dimensions. It's recognizable all the same, enough so to tell OA that Midge really is a woman out of time, even more than she is herself -- and enough to allow her to sense the tension of the moment, the weight of an unspoken expectation in dire need of shattering.
Sharing it was brave too. To be known is daunting, in joy as much as in sadness. Maybe more. What can OA offer in return? A thread of apprehension slips across the bond: what does she have to share that's sweet without the bitter?
Very little. Maybe that isn't what's needed right now anyway.]
Can I show you something? Something from when I was a girl.
no subject
[It's strange, experiencing all of this from Midge's perspective: to be onstage, in front of all those eyes, and thrive on it. To live it so directly, even through the imperfect lens of memory, is remarkable, if utterly foreign to her own experience.
OA comes out of it beaming, delight, envy, and even a sort of pride -- only half her own -- marrying within her. More distantly, unease: not only is the idea of being under the observation of so many people, particularly men, fraught, but the last time she'd found herself in front of an audience had turned... very strange very quickly.
She hides none of it. There had been a lesson then too, that strange day: even frightening truths are the purview of angels.]
You're good! And brave; some of those felt risky.
[Maybe not risky by her own sensibilities; Midge's reality and her own feel fundamentally different in a number of ways, separated by time and perhaps -- probably -- the boundaries of uncountable dimensions. It's recognizable all the same, enough so to tell OA that Midge really is a woman out of time, even more than she is herself -- and enough to allow her to sense the tension of the moment, the weight of an unspoken expectation in dire need of shattering.
Sharing it was brave too. To be known is daunting, in joy as much as in sadness. Maybe more. What can OA offer in return? A thread of apprehension slips across the bond: what does she have to share that's sweet without the bitter?
Very little. Maybe that isn't what's needed right now anyway.]
Can I show you something? Something from when I was a girl.