Gifted

by H. A. Swain

  “Oh my god, you scared me,” I say with my hand over my thumping heart. “What are you doing here? I thought you and Brie both had the day off.” We’re jostled from every side by all the people pushing past us, hurrying to the AutoTrams that will whisk them to the PODPlexes or up to the Strip.

  “What happened in there?” he says, glancing at the knot of people around Aimery.

  “Oh, that. Well … I’ll tell you later,” I say, not wanting to take the time to explain. “I have to catch a tram to the MediPlex before—”

  “Wait.” Dorian motions me aside. “I brought you something.”

  “Dorian, I’m sorry. I’m already late!” I step toward the trams that are beginning to fill up and pull away without me.

  “The last time I talked to you,” he says and tugs me aside, “you said the tram takes forever to get to the MediPlex. I realized that you could go the back way, along the river path, and get there in fifteen minutes and so I thought…” He points to a red bicycle parked by the building. He tosses up his hands and says, “Ta-da!”

  “I … I … I don’t understand,” I say.

  “I made it,” he says, “for you.” He looks at me expectantly. When I don’t move he says, “I’m giving it to you. It’s a present.”

  My jaw drops. I walk all the way around the bike, whispering, “You made it? For me?”

  He shrugs like it’s no big thing. “It was my day off, I had spare parts lying around, and…”

  “Wow, that’s the nicest thing…” I start to say then stop because it’s actually the second-nicest thing that’s happened to me today. I glance over my shoulder to see if Aimery is still here.

  “You’re always helping everybody else,” says Dorian, pulling my attention back. “I thought it was time somebody helped you.”

  “It’s amazing.” I blush and smile. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Maybe ‘thank you,’” he suggests.

  “Yes, oh my gosh. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Now he’s blushing. Ever since the night of the concert, we haven’t had a chance to talk about what’s going on between us. First his dad interrupted, made us talk to Nonda, and dragged him home. Then Nonda went missing and now every evening I rush off to see her.

  Suddenly, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me in for a long hug. “I’ve missed you!” He puts his nose into my hair and inhales.

  “Oh, wow!” I say and jump back, my stomach in a knot. I glance over my shoulder to look for Aimery again, but the crowd has dispersed and he’s long gone. My heart sinks a little because I didn’t get to thank him properly for standing up to Jude for me. Then I feel bad. Why am I thinking about Aimery when Dorian is right here in front of me? Giving me a bike! I turn back to him. “This is amazing, Dorian. Incredible. And I wish I had more time but right now I have to go.”

  “Of course.” He steps away, brushes his fingers through blond dreads, embarrassed. “You should go. I don’t want to keep you from your grandmother.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask as I swing my leg over the bike, feeling shaky and uncertain. I haven’t ridden one by myself since I was little.

  “Of course!” he says and grabs the back of the seat to steady me. “Don’t worry. Your body will remember what to do.”

  I start to pedal, swaying left and right, overcorrecting then finding my balance again as Dorian runs alongside me through the quickly emptying lot toward the river path behind the warehouse.

  “I’m doing it!” I yell, excited to find the rhythm. I pump my legs and grip the handlebars. Dorian gives me one last push and sets me on my way.

  “Be careful!” he calls after me. “Ping me later!”

  “I will!” I yell over my shoulder. “And thank you again.”

  * * *

  If the Security Office makes me paranoid because of what happened to my mother, the MediPlex breaks my heart into a thousand pieces each time I come here because this is the last place I saw my father. Nonda says children are wise. Mostly I think that’s wishful thinking, but the day they fished my father out of the river, his pockets laden with heavy rocks, I felt old beyond my years. He was bloated and ashy gray, hair splayed like riverweeds across the gray sheet of the gurney, his mouth and eyes open in an eternal blank stare of a dead fish. In the plain white room, Nonda, Tati, and Brie’s mother Elena huddled in the corner, gripping each other, trying to quiet their sobs while I climbed up next to my father’s body.

  He hadn’t slept for weeks. I’d watch him through our POD window, pacing the Y.A.R.D. all hours of the night. I always imagined that he was waiting for my mom to return and I’d spin stories in my head that she’d finally come home, find Dad out in the damp night air, wrap her arms around his narrow waist, and lead him back inside. But, of course, she never came and Dad only got worse until he couldn’t stand living any longer and he took the plunge like so many other workers had done before him and since. On that final night in the MediPlex, I leaned over and kissed his stone-cold forehead. “Sleep now,” I told him like he told me each night before bed, then I climbed down with the understanding that I’d be taking care of myself from then on.

  Inside, the MediPlex smells sour, as if all the doors and windows have been closed for decades. The halls are busy, though, with people scurrying from birth to death. Sometimes I think my mother got it right when she left the Complex life, even though I’m angry that she didn’t take me with her. Then I remind myself, if I wasn’t here, who’d look after Nonda? I realize that I should have brought her something from outside. Yellow flowers, willow leaves, a bowl of her favorite soup, raspberries from the bushes ripening by the river. Next time, I promise myself, I’ll come with gifts.

  I maneuver through the slow-moving people, ducking and weaving my way to Nonda’s ward, where I scan my thumbprint. A buzzer sounds and I’m admitted into a dim interior hall. Two of the lights overhead are burned out and the other one flickers. The place is eerily quiet except for a constant low-level moaning of machines and human voices that sends goose bumps across my skin.

  Nonda’s room is large and round, subdivided like a clock. Twelve beds, twelve patients, each one surrounded by a flimsy curtain the color of grubworm meal. Everyone here is slack-jawed, wild-haired, and sleepy. They look up at me expectantly as I pass. I try to smile at them but my face falters. They all look terribly sad. When I step inside Nonda’s area, she’s asleep. I always thought of her as strong, but that’s just her personality. Now, she seems tiny and frail. Part of me wishes I could take her home, but another part is terrified of what I’ll do when I have to. Who will look after her while I’m at work? What if she slips away again?

  “Nonda,” I whisper and stroke her wooly gray hair off her forehead.

  She wakes immediately and blinks at me.

  “Zimri?” she asks, and I smile because she recognizes me.

  I lace my fingers with hers. Her hands have become tiny things, like bird skeletons we sometimes find near the river.

  “Oh, good.” She lays her head on my shoulder and sighs. “Have you come to take me home? Why am I here? They’re not very nice. Mostly robots. I hardly ever see a person, except for that jerk next to me. He’s constantly peeing himself. Not that I can blame him. Takes forever for those dumb Robos to help us to the bathroom.”

  I laugh, delighted to hear feisty old Nonda coming through.

  For the next hour, I try to rub some warmth into Nonda’s cold feet while listening to the same stories she’s told me a thousand times, until a RoboNurse rolls in to check her vitals and dispense her medication.

  “Hello,” it says in a soothing, preprogrammed female voice, “Ms. Layla Robinson.” There’s a short pause as it scans my grandmother. “Your current vital signs are…” another short pause, “stable. Your last meal was at … 5:00 p.m. You are due for medication in … two hours. Your discharge date is…” The Robo checks its internal calendar then says, “Tomorrow at 1:00 p.m.”

  “Tomorrow!” I bl
urt out and nearly fall off the edge of her bed. “She can’t go home then.”

  “Not soon enough, if you ask me,” Nonda mutters.

  With complete indifference the Robo says, “Do you wish to request a different discharge date?”

  “Yes!” Nonda and I both say at the same time, then she beats me to the punch and adds, “I want to leave right now!”

  “Expedited requests must be processed by 10:00 a.m. for same-day discharges. It is currently … 8:34 p.m.” The Robo spins around and wheels itself away.

  “Wait! Wait! Wait!” I run after it. “I need to speak to someone. A human being! Nobody told me this. I can’t take her home tomorrow. I haven’t made arrangements. I’ll be at work!”

  The Robo stops in the center of the room. Its head swivels toward me. “Do you wish to request a different discharge date?” it asks again in the same even tone that makes me want to short-circuit its CPU.

  “Yes!”

  “On what day would you like the patient to be discharged?”

  Frantically, I pull up the calendar on my HandHeld and check for my next day off from work. “Friday,” I say, then I add, “please!” as if that would matter to a Robo. I hold my breath while it processes my request. The other patients in the beds have all sat up to watch through their parted curtains.

  “Your request for Layla Robinson to be discharged on Friday is…” The Robo’s green-light eyes blink. “Denied.” It swivels away.

  “Wait, don’t go!” I grab it by the cold metal shoulder but it’s quicker than I am and wheels away from my grip. “Why was my request denied?” I call after it.

  “Insufficient insurance coverage.”

  “No, no, no!” I follow it. “That’s not possible. We have Corp X health insurance. I need to speak with a doctor!”

  “The next doctor’s visit will be … Saturday, 3:00 p.m.”

  “Not acceptable!” I tell it firmly, anger rising in me like rushing water. “I want to speak with a doctor, a human being. Right now.”

  The Robo goes quiet. Green lights blink at me. I have half a mind to shake it until its bolts come loose and roll across the floor, but then it says, “Please stand by. Video conference to discuss denial of request with Dr. Garcia will commence.”

  The doctor that appears on the Robo’s face screen is younger than I expected. Her hair is pulled into a long black ponytail and there’s a deep furrow between her eyebrows, surely etched there by exhaustion. She skips all niceties and doesn’t look at me as she scans her screen. “The system shows me that Layla Robinson’s coverage is good for only 60 hours in MediPlex care. Since she was admitted on Thursday at 1:00 a.m., her coverage will run out at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow.”

  “No wait, listen.” I reach toward the Robo as if it’s the human. It wheels back. The doctor glances up at me and I lay it on thick. No time to waste. I only have a few seconds before the Robo will disconnect us so I pull out all the stops. “She’s my grandmother. She’s all I’ve got. Both my parents are dead. I’m working at the warehouse to take care of her. And she’s been so confused lately. Sometimes she thinks I’m my mother and she lives in the past half the time but can’t remember to take her HandHeld when she leaves and then she gets lost. She was almost hit by a car in the middle of the night! I can’t take her home yet. I don’t even know what’s wrong with her!” I force myself to get teary, shamelessly trying to evoke even a sliver of pity from the doctor who has no reason to do me any favors.

  “Always the same story,” Dr. Garcia says and shakes her head in disgust.

  “Well, pardon us for being just another Plebe sob story!” I snap then spin on my heel to walk away.

  “I’m not talking about you,” Dr. Garcia says sharply. “This kind of crap happens all the time at automated facilities like the one she’s in.” I turn back. She’s jabbing at the notes on her screen. “She hasn’t seen a real doctor. She was admitted with dehydration, lacerations, and some confusion, so those are the only things the RoboNurses are treating for until your insurance runs out. Then you either have to take her home or pay up. It’s despicable.”

  I stand there, speechless.

  “From what you’re telling me,” the doctor says, “I think it’s likely your grandmother has dementia. Do you know what that is?”

  I step closer and say quietly, “You mean her memory is going?”

  She nods. “Unfortunately, there’s no cure but there are some good treatment options. If you can buy her another day or two here, I can order a gerontologist to visit her. If she gets a dementia diagnosis, then your insurance will cover the treatment.”

  “How much would I need to keep her here until the other doctor can see her?” I ask, hoping Nonda can’t hear.

  Dr. Garcia punches in some info and a dollar amount appears on the screen. I quickly do the calculations in my head. PODPlex rent has already come out of my COYN payment for the month, plus our usual grocery order, the justice and health insurance payments for both of us. “My next COYN payment isn’t for two weeks. Can I pay you then?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, MediPlexes are all automated. You have to pay up front to keep her here. Otherwise, I can make an appointment and you can bring her back next week.”

  “No,” I plead. “I don’t have a way to keep her safe if I take her home.”

  “Then you have to get the money before 1:00 tomorrow or she goes home. These privatized facilities are harsh.”

  My mind races as I try to formulate a plan. Who could I borrow from? Who could bring the cash here tomorrow afternoon while I’m at work? I pace around, racking my brain, trying to come up with something feasible, then Dr. Garcia says, “Hey, what’s that song?”

  I stop and listen, but don’t hear anything. “What song?”

  She laughs. “The one you were singing?”

  “Oh, sorry,” I mutter and blush. Now she probably thinks I’m half-insane, pacing and singing to myself. “I do that without realizing. It’s a habit.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says and smiles. “I like it. I’ve heard it before. Sing it again.”

  “I don’t know what I was singing,” I admit with a cringe.

  “Like this.” She hums a line of melody, a half-step off-key. I can’t believe what I’m hearing but I know exactly what she’s trying to sing and I join in with the chorus, “We are Nobody from Nowhere and we have nowhere else to go.…”

  “Yes! That’s the one.” She leans close to the screen and whispers, “You’ve heard it, too? On the waves? That song says it all, doesn’t it?”

  My heartbeat crashes in my ears and I can’t formulate a sentence. I stare at her, not sure whether to be flattered or terrified. How many people have heard my song? Was it a mistake to put it out over the waves?

  But Dr. Garcia smiles kindly. “How much time would you need to get the money?”

  “A few days?”

  She sighs. “I wish I could give you that long.”

  I don’t want to lose this opportunity so without thinking it through, I blurt out, “How about tomorrow night by 9:00? I could bring it after work.”

  “Well…” Dr. Garcia lifts her eyebrows and scans her screen. “I have to find a way to keep her here until then.… Oh, lookie here!” She smiles, triumphant. “Your grandmother is due for a mammogram, which is covered by insurance. I’m going to schedule that for tomorrow at 7:00 p.m. That way we can keep her here past 1:00 and the test will take two hours.” She looks up at me and winks. “But remember: tomorrow night at 9:00 she’ll be released, unless…”

  “… I can come up with the money.”

  “Exactly,” says Dr. Garcia. “If we buy her another day, I think I can convince the gerontologist to visit and get her a proper diagnosis.”

  “Visiting hours are now over,” the Robo announces. “Your call will be disconnected. Please proceed to the exit.”

  “Thank you!” I call to Dr. Garcia. Her face fades from the Robo screen as it tries to direct me out of the room.

&nbs
p; “Please proceed to the exit,” the Robo repeats incessantly.

  “I’m going, I’m going,” I tell it. But first I hop around it to kiss Nonda good night. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I tell her.

  “To take me home?” she asks.

  “I don’t know yet,” I tell her honestly as I stroke her hair, because the truth is I don’t know how I’m going to come up with the money.

  * * *

  On my bike ride home, I get an idea so I swerve off the river path, cruise down the empty streets of Old Town, then burst through Tati’s shop door, calling her name.

  “Be right out,” she yells from the back then comes through the curtain with a blowtorch in one hand, a hammer in the other, and a grin on her face. “Zimri! Just the gal I wanted to see. I rejiggered that old video cam you brought me.” She sets down the tools and digs through a bin on a cluttered shelf behind her counter.

  “I need a favor,” I tell her. “It’s Nonda—”

  “I heard.” She shakes her head sadly. “If I had known things were so bad…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, probably because there’s not much else to say.

  “I need money,” I blurt out. “By tomorrow night to keep her in the MediPlex.”

  Tati turns to me slowly. “How much?” she asks. When I tell her, she grimaces. “That’s a lot of dough.”

  “Almost my entire COYN payment for two weeks.” I slump against the counter. “But I’ll pay you back. You know I will. I can reduce our grocery order, maybe sell some things. Or you can have some of Mom’s old equipment in exchange.”

  “Zim.” Tati puts her hand on my shoulder. “If I had it, I’d give you the money, but I don’t.”

  “But…” I look around at the shelves full of equipment in her shop.

  “I know, it looks impressive,” she says with a sarcastic snort. “But people don’t buy much out here. I make most of my nut when I go into the City to sell and I’m not going again until the end of the month. I just don’t have it, baby. I wish I did.”