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Jul. 13th, 2008 11:55 pmDinah remembers when Uncle Jay went away: when they finally told her that he wasn't coming back. She'd been sad then. She thought for a while that they'd been being needlessly patronising to her; that Uncle Jay had died and they'd been trying to ease the news. As it slowly occurred to her that he was, in fact simply missing, it hadn't become any easier. He was missing, but no one had any idea if he'd ever return; as far as it mattered, he might as well have died.
She never cried. She just lost the energy for Judo and boxing and for the flowers and spent more and more time in her room, drawn in on herself. It had taken time to recover, but she never cried.
Sometimes now, she finds her vision swimming and tears splash down her face, hot and painful where the salt reacts with her skin, but it doesn't feel like crying ought to feel. The tears are distant, detached from her, as if they're being produced by someone else and she's just observing. She doesn't feel like crying: she doesn't feel like anything. It's always a surprise to find herself weeping, but then, sometimes it's a surprise to find herself breathing. Just like with Jay, it's like the entire world has lost everything that makes it interesting, and the air has been sucked out of the room.
She doesn't go back to the bar. There's too much to do - well, too much for her mother to do. Dinah instead becomes the maker of lots and lots of coffees, the opener of lots and lots of cards and the receiver of lots and lots of bouquets ordered with other florists.
("Great," her mother says, voice hoarse for reasons not quite to do with her years smoking, "they express their sympathies by putting us out of business.")
There's always someone in the house as well. One of the Society - usually Uncle Johnny - is there to talk to her Mom in hushed tones, to hug either of them, and... just to be there. With all the people that Dinah's never heard of calling and sending things, she feels the comforting presence of an uncle as a constant source of security, the one rock she can cling to in this storm of badness that always seems about to drown her. But always, it feels like they're there for her Mom more than her.
She's not sure she recognises her Mom. Dinah Drake Lance was always so confident and assured, always confident. Now she suddenly looks old and unwell: sleeping far too late, moving with none of the grace and composure Dinah had come to expect from the world class Judo expert. The morning before the funeral, she drops a cupful of coffee on the kitchen floor. Never could either of them be called clumsy, and breakages just don't happen. Dinah jr jumps, Dinah Sr screams and covers her mouth.
"Oh for God's sake, Mom!" Dinah snaps, "I just mopped that floor!"
"I'm sorry," her Mom replies, staring at the floor in shock. "I didn't... I'm sorry."
Dinah glares at her and crouches down with paper towel in hand. It's a Mickey Mouse mug - a souvenir from Disneyland when Dinah was eight, just the three of them; a normal family.
"It's OK, Mom," she says reluctantly, because nothing's OK and they know it. "It's just coffee."
"But it's your favourite mug.." Dinah has never seen her mother so upset before, and it scares her more than she's ever been scared by a theoretical supervillain threat.
"It's not," Dinah returns, trashing the mug. "It hasn't been my favourite mug for years, Mom."
"I didn't..." her Mom manages. "I didn't know that..." And then, without warning, the Black Canary is crying in her own kitchen. "I'm sorry."
Dinah stops short, then rushes forward, hands around her Mom's shoulders. "Mom," she says quietly, and can't find any other words. For a while, there's no need for them, and mother clings to daughter like she never has before, completely helpless for the first time Dinah can remember.
"I'm going to leave the Justice Society," she says quietly, and it's no surprise.
"OK," Dinah says, her arms still around her Mom. "Take all the time you need."
"No." Her Mom pulls back in the chair, holding her daughter's shoulders at arm's length. "Forever. I'm not going to make you an orphan, Dinah, I promise."
"But the Justice Society is your life..."
"You're my life, Darling. You and your father were always the most important thing, and now I've lost him..." There's another wave of tears and all Dinah can do is hold her, shocked into silence.
When her tears come back, they're not for the loss of her dead parent.
She never cried. She just lost the energy for Judo and boxing and for the flowers and spent more and more time in her room, drawn in on herself. It had taken time to recover, but she never cried.
Sometimes now, she finds her vision swimming and tears splash down her face, hot and painful where the salt reacts with her skin, but it doesn't feel like crying ought to feel. The tears are distant, detached from her, as if they're being produced by someone else and she's just observing. She doesn't feel like crying: she doesn't feel like anything. It's always a surprise to find herself weeping, but then, sometimes it's a surprise to find herself breathing. Just like with Jay, it's like the entire world has lost everything that makes it interesting, and the air has been sucked out of the room.
She doesn't go back to the bar. There's too much to do - well, too much for her mother to do. Dinah instead becomes the maker of lots and lots of coffees, the opener of lots and lots of cards and the receiver of lots and lots of bouquets ordered with other florists.
("Great," her mother says, voice hoarse for reasons not quite to do with her years smoking, "they express their sympathies by putting us out of business.")
There's always someone in the house as well. One of the Society - usually Uncle Johnny - is there to talk to her Mom in hushed tones, to hug either of them, and... just to be there. With all the people that Dinah's never heard of calling and sending things, she feels the comforting presence of an uncle as a constant source of security, the one rock she can cling to in this storm of badness that always seems about to drown her. But always, it feels like they're there for her Mom more than her.
She's not sure she recognises her Mom. Dinah Drake Lance was always so confident and assured, always confident. Now she suddenly looks old and unwell: sleeping far too late, moving with none of the grace and composure Dinah had come to expect from the world class Judo expert. The morning before the funeral, she drops a cupful of coffee on the kitchen floor. Never could either of them be called clumsy, and breakages just don't happen. Dinah jr jumps, Dinah Sr screams and covers her mouth.
"Oh for God's sake, Mom!" Dinah snaps, "I just mopped that floor!"
"I'm sorry," her Mom replies, staring at the floor in shock. "I didn't... I'm sorry."
Dinah glares at her and crouches down with paper towel in hand. It's a Mickey Mouse mug - a souvenir from Disneyland when Dinah was eight, just the three of them; a normal family.
"It's OK, Mom," she says reluctantly, because nothing's OK and they know it. "It's just coffee."
"But it's your favourite mug.." Dinah has never seen her mother so upset before, and it scares her more than she's ever been scared by a theoretical supervillain threat.
"It's not," Dinah returns, trashing the mug. "It hasn't been my favourite mug for years, Mom."
"I didn't..." her Mom manages. "I didn't know that..." And then, without warning, the Black Canary is crying in her own kitchen. "I'm sorry."
Dinah stops short, then rushes forward, hands around her Mom's shoulders. "Mom," she says quietly, and can't find any other words. For a while, there's no need for them, and mother clings to daughter like she never has before, completely helpless for the first time Dinah can remember.
"I'm going to leave the Justice Society," she says quietly, and it's no surprise.
"OK," Dinah says, her arms still around her Mom. "Take all the time you need."
"No." Her Mom pulls back in the chair, holding her daughter's shoulders at arm's length. "Forever. I'm not going to make you an orphan, Dinah, I promise."
"But the Justice Society is your life..."
"You're my life, Darling. You and your father were always the most important thing, and now I've lost him..." There's another wave of tears and all Dinah can do is hold her, shocked into silence.
When her tears come back, they're not for the loss of her dead parent.
