SiSU: - Homeland - Cory Doctorow

Homeland
their line and we all rushed forward to the fire, everyone helping everyone else along, like
the world's most courteous stampede. I flashed on the crush of bodies in the BART station
after the Bay Bridge blew, the horrible feeling of being forced by the mass of people to
step on those who'd fallen, the sweat and the stink and the noise. Someone had stabbed
Darryl in that crowd, given him the wound that started us on our awful adventure.
This crowd was nothing like that mob, but my internal organs didn't seem to know that,
and they did slow flip-flops in my abdomen, and my legs turned to jelly, and I found myself
slowly sliding to the playa. There were tears pouring down my face, and I felt like I was
floating above my body as Ange grabbed me under my armpits, struggling to get me to my
feet as she spoke urgent, soothing words into my ears. People stopped and helped, one
tall woman steering traffic around us, a small older man grabbing me beneath my armpits
with strong hands, pulling me upright.
I snapped back into my body, felt the jellylegged feeling recede, and blinked away the tears.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “Sorry.” I was so embarrassed I felt like digging a hole and pulling the
playa in over my head. But neither of the people who'd stopped to help seemed surprised.
The woman told me where to find the nearest medical camp and the man gave me a hug
and told me to take it easy.
Ange didn't say anything, just held me for a moment. She knew that I sometimes got a
little wobbly in crowds, and she knew I didn't like to talk about it. We made our way to
the fire and watched it for a moment, then went back out into the playa for the parties and
the dancing and forgetting. I reminded myself that I was in love, at Burning Man, and that
there might be a job waiting for me when I got back to San Francisco, and kicked myself
in the ass every time I felt the bad feeling creeping up on me.
Temple burn was very different. We got there really early and sat down nearly at the front
and watched the sun set and turn the temple's white walls orange, then red, then purple.
Then the spotlights went up, and it turned blazing white again. The wind blew and I heard
the rustle of all the paper remembrances fluttering in its nooks and on its walls.
We were sitting amid thousands of people, tens of thousands of people, but there was
hardly a sound. When I closed my eyes, I could easily pretend that I was alone in the
desert with the temple and all its memories and good-byes and sorrows. I felt the ghost
of that feeling I'd had when I'd sat in the temple and tried to clear my mind, to be in the
present and throw away all my distractions. The temple had an instantly calming effect on
me, silenced all the chattering voices in the back of my head. I don't believe in spooks and
ghosts and gods, and I don't think the temple had any supernatural effect, but it had an
absolutely natural effect, made me sorrowful and hopeful and calm and, well, soft-edged
all at once.
I wasn't the only one. We all sat and watched the temple, and people spoke in hushed
tones, museum voices, church whispers. Time stretched. Sometimes I felt like I was
dozing off. Other times I felt like I could feel every pore and every hair on my body. Ange
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