The final coroner’s report: cardiac arrest caused by a combination of alcohol and lethal levels of dextromethorphan. Cough syrup.
The joke: Mel tried so many drugs—had, in fact, possessed such a zeal and lack of fear for substances—of course she would OD on something legal. Hick death. Something that would send a suburban fifteen-year-old to the emergency room. Womp womp. It is suggested in an otherwise reverent blog post that Mel would have found this funny. Which makes Donnie scream. But it’s not wrong.
The cremation is in two days. There’ll be a service the day after that. It’s not a funeral, Donnie assures me. It is a memorial. People getting together to remember. No music, no hymns, no processionals.
I stay in Donnie’s guest bedroom, falling in and out of sleep, sitting up every few hours to smoke a bowl and change the channel on the flat-screen. Donnie brings trays of food—poached eggs in little crystal perches, cups of tea and porcelain creamers, grapefruit split in half. “Eat,” she says. I pick at everything while she sits at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, peering at the television. When she steps out, I feed Wyatt chunks of egg. Wyatt, my constant companion, my big spoony guy.
In a memorial gesture, Animacon airs our shorts, and then Nashville Combat, on its new cable channel. I cruise right past it and find Saturday Night Live reruns from the nineties. Smoke more bowls. Am unhappily rapt for hours.
Ten times a day, I turn—actually physically turn my body—to look for Mel, to tell her something, before realizing she’s not there.
Brecky Tolliver comes to visit. I have no idea what time or day it is. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her out of a suit. “Sharon. Hey.” She gives me a one-armed hug. Points to the bowl. I shrug. She picks it up and takes a hit and passes it to me. I toke. “What are you watching.”
“Chris Farley.”
We let that fartbomb settle before she takes the remote and turns to CHiPs.
I ask her, “So are you and Donnie, like, friends now, or something?”
“We’re actually kind of seeing each other.”
“Really. I didn’t know that.”
“Figured she wouldn’t mention it.”
“She plays it close to the vest.”
“She does indeed.”
“That’s cool,” I tell her.
“Yeah.” Brecky clears her throat, toys with the remote. It occurs to me that she’s nervous. “It was the panel discussion. She called me to apologize for Mel’s—whatever. We got to talking. One thing sort of led to another.”
I lean back into the pillows, take another hit. “I like knowing Mel’s shitfit gave birth to a high-powered lesbian love unit. Does my heart good.”
“Heh.” Brecky scratches her head. “I could have been cooler about the panel thing.”
“Dude. She dry-humped you in public.”
“Well, I provoked her. I kind of can’t blame her.”
“I can. You know how she is.”
“Uh huh.” Brecky looks at me carefully. “How are you feeling, Sharon?”
“Shit. I’m. You know.” I make a smoothing gesture with my hand.
We watch TV. She says finally, “I’m sorry, Sharon.”
“So tell me how this works. Is Donnie the dude? What’s it like when you fight? Who gets to scissor on top?”
“We don’t fight much,” she says.
“That’s great. Everyone needs leeway from somebody. Milk of human kindness and all that.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she says, “She’s usually on top.”
“Well, that’s nonnegotiable, isn’t it.”
“I’m sorry, Sharon.”
“I heard you.”
“I need to say it again.”
“Okay.”
She shifts. The bed creaks. “Look. I’ve never dealt well with envy, okay? Professional envy in particular. It’s held me back from a lot of things in my life. It’s a character defect. I know it. I’ve been working on it.” She clears her throat. “It’s made things very lonely for me at times. As I’m sure you can imagine. And that part of me made things really bad with you, but especially with Mel. I really regret the way I treated her.”
I shrug. “All right.”
“No. I— I did some things I’m not proud of.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I might have knocked you all out of the running for a Hollingsworth. A few years ago. The first time you applied, maybe?”
“What?”
She shakes her head. “You didn’t deserve it. I had some drinks with the board members one night and, I don’t know, I said some things I shouldn’t have. Like how I thought Mel would go off the rails and fuck up the grant if they gave it to you. There was something about Mel that triggered something—self-protective in me, I guess. She made me feel inadequate. But instead of dealing with it, I hurt someone else.”