Fiction/ Joe Pan

Willie, Invictus

An air conditioning unit fell from a tall building and landed on my mother and now her corpse is following me.

Which is so my mom.

I’ve only been out of the house for a month, having moved into my boyfriend Mattt’s place. Mattt deejays at Crimpdick and is so successful at selling merch and NFTs he was able to purchase a one bedroom in SoHo above the Apple Store and asked me to move in with him and I said yes. Marriage is a big maybe. We eat pankcake (singular) each morning at the Gene Wildest  café and run together in the afternoons and it’s bliss.

Of course my mother couldn’t stop calling to tell me what a horrible mistake I was making. But she got pregnant when she was twenty two, right? And hated her life choices and I’m twenty-three and part-time at Dior and I have my shit together and maybe she’s jealous?

Luckily the a/c unit caved in the backside of her head, so it’s not completely gruesome, save for her one big eye. Which honestly I’m used to, because whenever she got frustrated she’d squint one eye, while the other got bigger.

So now she just looks super frustrated.

In yoga she stands by the mirror and I close my eyes and breathe and try to decompress but she just says my name over and over and it’s maddening.

I try on shoes at Bergdorf and spot her splotchy red feet under the changing room door. She watches me eat gelato which I’m allergic to but doesn’t join me in the bathroom afterwards, thank god. 

“I’m not giving up my boundaries!” I yell, knowing she’s waiting for me. 

“Avenge me,” she murmurs.

Excuse me, what? 

For my tenth birthday you bought yourself a handbag, then took me to the Algonquin for cake but got trashed and left without paying and dragged me to Dad’s CFO’s house and deposited me on the balcony while you fucked Dad’s best friend loud enough for me to have to sing songs and plug my ears.

I decide upon a pedicure and scan TikTok while she looms by the goldfish, looking frustrated.

I giggle because look at the big-eyed fish! Twinsies!

“Avenge me,” she whispers as I order an Uber and head uptown to the mortuary, which is a bummer.

“It seems there’s a family plot up in Dutchess County. Transport has been arranged,” says the drab and serious fellow across the desk. “Let’s discuss the funeral.”

I glance over to Mom, standing in the shadows of the heavily curtained room. “There won’t be a funeral. She had no close friends. Or, that’s not exactly true, but she often wanted to be alone, and I want that for her even now, you know?”

“But ma’am, we already have a deposit.”

I reach over and clutch his old man hands. “Keep it. Go get yourself a blowjob.”

The ride back along the park is wistful. I love the changing colors of the trees, and begin cataloguing which boxes of clothes I’ll need to bring over, sweaters and whatnot. I figure I can AirBnB her co-op apartment and live off the rent. 

I arrive at this building I’ve never been to before and look up, counting the floors, and go inside. Doormen never ask me who I’m there to see; I wear my hemlines high and blouses low. This guy in a ruffled suit asks if he can accompany me up. I thank him anyway, what a sweetheart.

My mother is in the elevator, watching me reapply my lipstick.

I knock on the door and a woman answers. About my age, cute curls. When I tell her my name she cups her face and I walk past her into the living room. The apartment smells like dog but I don’t see it. There’s a nice view of the Hudson.

“I’m so so sorry,” she says, wiping away tears. She leans against a wall and folds her arms. She definitely works from home, socks by the sofa. “I didn’t even install the thing, it came with the place. It snapped off part of the window frame and just…fell.”

I walk over to her like a bad bitch. You should see this look I have.

My mother watches from beside the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. I can feel what she wants, for me to drag this young freelancer outside and flip her over the railing.

Instead I’m eye to eye with my mother’s accidental murderer.

I can taste her breath.

“What are you doing?” she asks. 

I wait. “Testing boundaries.”

She is clearly uncomfortable, but hey, this was my mother, and everyone who’s ever rented in New York knows you invest in a fucking window mount.

I’m staring at her lips.

“I need you to leave,” she says.

The grin just comes. I step back and look her up and down. I think I could lift her. Instead, I reach into my purse and pull out the only thing my mother ever cared about. I leave the object on the glass coffee table.

“Is that a flask?” she asks.

“You don’t need me to forgive you, because you didn’t do shit,” I say to her, tenting my hands into namaste. “You’ve always had the power to forgive yourself, but you were weak. You can stop being so fucking weak, but that’s entirely up to you.”

Then I leave.

Alone in the elevator, I decide against a stroll in the park. I decide to buy a dog, and wonder if Mattt would like a small one or a big one. I wonder if the dog will run with us.

I hail a cab back to SoHo. I can always count on Robert to find me a table at the cappuccino bar, even when it’s packed. I hit my vape and scroll through my messages. Then on to social media. It’s such a gorgeous day. Somewhere, someone in the city is sobbing.