The Greenest Grass

"The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Seriously, Mom?" I toss her notebook on the ledge above the window. "Is this what you've been doing with all your free time?"

Mom doesn't hear me over the sound of the air conditioner. It hums, then sputters, then hums again as she rams it with her oxygen cart.

“Careful, or you’ll have another accident.” Today, the tank is low, too light to do any real damage, but I say it anyway. Make a mental note to pick up a replacement.

Mom grins at the window where the crack has spiderwebbed across the pane, the one she put there last year, when she still had the strength. “It wasn’t—"

“I know, I know, it wasn’t an accident." I ease her cart off the smooshed condenser fins and use my badge to rake them straight. "Look, nothing's wrong with the AC. It’s just a power intermit.”

The thermostat flashes. Eighty-four degrees, eighty-five. The air is a wet sheet hanging in the rain to dry.

Mom raises her mask to her nose, and drapes her naked torso over the blower grill. “Third shift is lazy.”

I try not to roll my eyes. I’m sick of rolling my eyes.

I peel the sweat-soaked shirt from my skin, pull a damp one over my head. “Third shift is tired.”

Mom finds her cane and pushes herself upright. “Today's not your day.”

What was one more day?

Twenty-four more hours.

One thousand, four hundred and forty more minutes.

Eighty-six thousand, four hundred more seconds in a room with four walls and a window to nowhere.

Mom doubles back over and coughs and hacks into the pane. Her breath sticks to the glass like the cloud that awaits on the other side.

Mom clears her throat. “There’s more to life than work you know.”

Was there?

Ah, yes. There was also eat, sleep, wake.

No matter. Tomorrow was Novennial, and I would have Access—we would have Access.

“It’s not forever,” I tell her.

Mom feels for the heart-shaped locket hanging from her neck and wraps her fingers around it. “That’s what your dad used to say.”

My eyes find the ceiling, the door.

Mom staggers toward me. “You know what I meant.”

What she means is before.

Before Dad started with the double, then the triple shifts. Before he ended with the knotted contractor bags, the empty bottles clanking inside.

Back when she still had Rory and a pair sneakers to wedge in the chainlink fence surrounding the construction site.

“Ooh, it makes me think of something from a movie," Rory had said, tugging at her sleeve. "Doesn’t it remind you of a movie or something, Rel? Or a dream? Something like, like...”

“Like Emerald City.”

“That's it, Relic! Like Emerald City," Rory had said. "Only instead of poppies, it’s surrounded by a bunch of those plastic dome thingies. You know, where people play golf.”

Here, inside Mother and my's plastic dome thingie, we do not play golf.

We do not play who can ring the most sweat from their sports bra or other games Rory would have invented to make the minutes tick.

Here, inside the geodome, those of us who are able, work. And in here, work counted—towards Novennial, towards Access...

Mom raps her cane against the glass. “When I die, I want you to put me out there. Back where I came from.”

If a window leads to nowhere and shows nothing, it it still a window?

“Then I’d be dead too,” I tell her.

“So they say." Mom raises her cane. "You can—“

“I know, I know." I say. "I can use your oxygen tank to get to Dexter.”

But everyone knows that Dexter is a mirage that only people like Mom can see.

People who believe they can survive on saltwater.

Mom rubs the locket with her thumb. “Your sister might be there.”

Mom tucks the locket back into her shirt and extends a hand in my direction.

I take a step back so that not even her fingers can brush against me.

My sister was with my dad.

#

The attendant scans my badge, and the portal to the Outer Commons opens. Three concentric tracks rotate slowly outside the Fishbowl. Its convex glass stretches a mile wide and as tall as you can see, preserving the last of what's left from before.

My stomach growls as I bypass Vending and make my way down the steps, to the inner-most tier.

Where the pay is highest.

Where the whirr of the turbines is loudest.

Where the air is thickest.

On the other side of the pane is the greenest grass. Emerald City. Sometimes, when the track rotates just right, you can catch a glimpse of a couple strolling along a dirt path, holding hands. A reminder while I stand here shoveling shit into a shaft.

For fifty-five minutes we work, then the gears grind to a halt and the break bell whistles. Five minutes of rest for every hour. Sometimes I find my reflection and pretend it’s Rory waiting for me on the other side.

On Wednesdays, Mason comes down from Water Purification and traces words on my back.

Butterflies.

Happiness.

Soon.

But today is Thursday, and Mason and his five brothers can afford more mindful tasks.

“Relic!” Ember waves to me from the top tier, the outermost part of the track, where the pay is low and the work is easy. But Ember doesn’t come for the money.

She comes wearing lipstick the same shade as her hair. She comes with her shirt knotted above her navel and her sleeves rolled into cuffs. She comes with fingers that rumple boys’ hair while they crank slop into provision tablets.

I carry a cup of water to where Ember is waiting, and sip it on the step next to her. She sucks an orange beverage through a straw and tosses the remains into a receptacle. “I thought you were off today.”

I shrug. “What else is there?”

You could only watch the Access Instructional so many times before your eyes began to blur and random words appeared on the screen. First came words, then came the memories of things you were never going to get back. Things from before.

Last week the word had been eggs.

Scrambled eggs, how they squished between your teeth.

Boiled eggs, that time Rory forgot one in her locker.

Basted eggs and Dad, dipping toast in the yolks.

Substitute applesauce for eggs and you’re back to squishing eggs between your teeth.

Last week it had been eggs, and the week before, it was paper, paper and Rory, folding one of those fortune telling doodads.

Pick a color, she whispered.

Red.

R-E-D.

Pick a number.

Four.

F-O-U-R.

Pick another number.

Two.

Who could have known Geodessia was under the flap?

Here, inside the Fishbowl, Ember nudges a playful elbow into my ribs. “I thought maybe you and Mason would be busy discussing how many babies you’re going to make next week.”

My sip of water goes down the wrong pipe, and I cough out the words. “Who’s to say he even likes me?”

“Who’s to say he doesn’t? I bet you won’t even have to work after you two are married." Ember crosses her legs. "He’s rich you know.”

“He’s not.”

Ember shrugs. “He looks rich.”

#

For Novennial, the gears stop for a full hour for Access processing. The line moves quickly enough. Mason has probably already gone through. Ember is probably still asleep.

The attendant motions to an open processor. I swipe my badge and the screen illuminates. A two-minute timer begins a countdown, just like the Instructional had shown.

A pinwheel rotates, then our faces appear, mine and Mom’s.

Touch to select.

I tap the screen. First Mom’s face, then mine.

Next.

Inner or Central?

Wait, what?

I flag down the attendant. His eyebrows furrow, but he shuffles over anyway. "You know the rules."

"I'm not—there's a glitch." I step aside and point to the words on the screen. "See?"

A hefty sigh leaves the attendant's chest. “Didn’t you watch the Instructional?”

“Yes, but—" But not since last week. Not since eggs.

The attendant crosses his arms. “Did you watch the update?”

“When was the update?" I ask.

The attendant turns away from me. His feet begin to walk.

"When was the update?" I call after him.

The attendant pauses. Mouths a word behind his hand.

Central.

“If you can afford it,” he says, walking back to his station.

The one-minute warning flashes.

Would you like to forfeit your Access?

No.

My fingertip trembles as it taps the word. Central.

Insufficient funds. Would you like to delete a Dependent?

No.

Start Over.

Select Mom's face. Select mine.

Next.

Select Central.

Next.

Insufficient funds. Would you like to delete a Dependent?

My finger hovers over No. My eyes blur.

Her days are numbered.

All our days are numbered. She's all I have left.

You could have Mason.

That's not guaranteed. Who's to say he chose Central?

Who's to say he didn't?

Shut up.

Start Over.

Select Mom's face. Select mine.

Next.

Inner or Central?

What is Inner?

What is Inner?

The attendant keeps his back turned while my arms wave.

If you're wrong, it'll be another nine years...

Shut up. Shut up!

Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight...Would you like to forfeit your Access?

No.

Central.

Next.

Error. Please re-swipe your badge.

Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen...Would you like to forfeit your Access?

No.

Start Over.

Select Mom's face. Select mine.

Next.

Inner or Central?

Twelve. Eleven...

Inner.

Next.

Confirm purchase?

Confirm.

Warning! This action may not be undone. Press OK to confirm.

Five. Four. Three...

OK.

Confirmed. Access rights updating. Please take your receipt.

My hands are shaky.

My account balance is low.

Low like Mom's tank.

The attendant pushes me along. One more glance behind me to search the line. For Ember’s red lips. For Mason’s gentle hands.

#

The attendant scans my badge, and the portal to the Inner Commons opens. Three concentric tracks rotate slowly inside the Fishbowl. Its concave glass stretches a mile wide and as tall as you can see, preserving the last of what's left from before.

My stomach growls as I bypass Vending and make my way up the steps, to the outer-most tier.

Where the pay is highest.

Where the whirr of the turbines is loudest.

Where the air is thickest.

On the other side of the pane is the greenest grass. Emerald City. Sometimes, when the track rotates just right, you can catch a glimpse of a couple strolling along a dirt path, holding hands. Sometimes they stop to kiss, the girl with her fiery curls smushed against the glass, the boy with his finger tracing hearts across her back. A reminder while I stand here shoveling shit into a shaft.

For fifty-five minutes we work, then the gears grind to a halt and the break bell whistles. Five minutes of rest for every hour.

#

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room.

Below Mom's handwriting, in the same shaky ink, a drawing she'd finished with the rest of her time. I tear the page from the notebook, fold it in half, and tuck it in my back pocket.

The air conditioner hums, then sputters, then hums again.

Mom’s heart-shaped locket dangles from her oxygen cart. Her urn rests atop the ledge above the window with the spiderweb crack, the one she put there last year, when she still had the strength.

I find my reflection in the pane and tell Rory to wait for me on the other side.

Today, the tank is full.