Page 32 of Riot Act
Meredith milks her micro-stardom for all its worth. She preens and falls over herself to issue compliments. She even air-kisses a porter. I growl out loud in annoyance, which earns me a stern lecture about how menial workers are people, too, and probably more deserving of our time and notice because they’re not used to their betters acknowledging them. Sadly, she doesn’t realize just how absolutely fucking hypocritical and condescending that statement is.
Back in her room, she unravels her scarf from around her neck and loops it over the arm of an antique coat rack that looks starkly out of place in Mountain Lakes’ tiny hospital. “Well, let’s get this out of the way, then, shall we?” she says, her tone dripping with frustration.
I throw the bag down on the bed and unzip it. The black box tumbles out onto paisley bed sheets—definitely not standard hospital issue—and Meredith arches an eyebrow coolly at it. “That’swhat this is all about? The box?”
“You don’t get to leave me gifts for after you’re dead,” I spit.
She stifles a laugh, massaging the side of her neck. “Well, I’d hardly call it agift.”
“What is it then, if not some sentimental gesture from the afterlife? That’s what it’s supposed to be, right?”
“You came here to bitch at me and ruin my day because of this, and you haven’t even looked inside?” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t think you have the common sense you were born with, Pax. That doesn’t make any sense.” She picks up the box, turning it over until the script handwriting spelling out my name is facing the right way up. “The urn containing your father’s ashes is in here. I got sick of staring at it at the penthouse, so I packed it up for you to have once I was gone. What? Don’t look at me like that. What was I supposed to? Just tip him down the waste disposal?”
She genuinely sounds annoyed that I’m reacting badly to this. Butwhat theactualfuck? “The urn containing my father’s ashes has been banging around in my backpack all day?My dead father?You’ve lost your fucking mind!”
“Really, Pax. You need to find a way to self-regulate, you know. You respond to very normal situations in truly bizarre ways.”
I grab my bag, gritting my teeth together and I jam my arms through its straps. “When you’re gone, I’ll ride around the subway with your incinerated remains in a Ziplock, then. Are you okay withthat?”
“That depends. I know which neighborhoods you like to frequent, sweetheart.” She studies me rather disappointedly. “So long as you don’t take me to Queens, I suppose I wouldn’t really mind. But that’s a moot point. I’m not being cremated. I’m donating my body to medical science.”
A prickling, angry heat climbs up my back and burns between my shoulder blades. “Good. Maybe they can slice your brain open and figure out why the hell you were so fucked up,Mom.” I turn and bolt from the room before she can get in the final word. I’m not fast enough, though. I’m never fast enough.
“Meredith, darling!Meredith!You know I don’t like it when you call me that!”
13
PAX
I’m in a foul mood. I want to break something.
I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going. I get off the elevator, following the person in front of me, not seeing or hearing, or feeling anything. Suddenly, Pete the security guard is standing in front of me, and he’s wearing a smile a mile wide. “Good man! Remy said he thought you’d come but I admit, I was betting against you, kid.
“What?”
“There’s half an hour left before they kick everyone out. Come with me.”
I’m still reeling from my encounter with Meredith too badly to fully process what he’s saying. I’m barely processing anything at all as I dumbly follow Pete toward a small gift and snack store, where he heads for the back corner and begins operating a small icy machine, dumping pale yellow gunk into a little plastic cup. “She looks like lemon’s her favorite, doesn’t she? Personally, I like the bubblegum flavor. My daughter’s always giving me grief for ordering the fake blue shit. And before you say it, I know it looks gross. Just a whole heap of processed sugar. Nothing nutritious about it. Still. It makesmefeel better when I’m sick. I’m sure it’ll make her feel better, too.”
I’m itching for a cigarette. I wonder if anyone will notice if I light up in here. I don’t think I can wait ’til I get outside; my blood is fucking boiling.
You need to find a way to self-regulate, you know. You respond to very normal situations in truly bizarre ways.
Fucking. Unbelievable.
My hands are cold. Why are my hands so cold? I look down and I’m standing in front of a register, holding a small cup of lemon gelato. Wait…what the fuck?
“Three-eighty for a small, thanks.” The cashier standing on the other side of the register looks at me expectantly.
To my right, Pete nods. “I’m not allowed to carry a wallet while I’m on duty,” he says. “But it’s better this way. Better that it comes from you.”
“Better that…what?”
“Sorry, man. If you’re not ready to pay, can you step to one side?” the cashier asks. “There isn’t much room in here and there’s a line forming.”
Mechanically, I pull a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket and hand it to the cashier. He gives me change, and the whole time the gelato burns the palm of my hand, it’s so cold.
“Great stuff. Now, when you go in there, don’t…y’know. Don’t mention anything about…y’know.” Pete steers me by the shoulders out of the little store and left down the hallway. “It can be really confronting for some patients if people talk about their injuries right out of the gate. I think it might be prudent to hold off in this case, though. Her dad was here earlier and caused quite the scene.”
