Bunny unwraps herself from Meredith’s arms. “I mean this, this lot that Great-Grandma had and Grandma had and you had and—I’m tired—I’m not going to wear a fucking white sash and white gloves like it’s the fucking nineteen-fifties! Don’t you see how fucked up this is? Those people removed enslaved bodies from their graves so they could build a mansion for themselves, and Audrey is dead, and hundreds of people from the chemical dumping are dead, and it’s all our fault!” Bunny breaks down in hysterical tears.
Meredith’s heart skips a beat. “What did you just say?”
Bunny sniffles, wipes her tears, inhales. “Chemical dumping, the Bankses’ family business killing innocent poor people… that’s why they were murdered, isn’t it?”
Relieved that Bunny is talking about the Banks family and not her own, unsure of how she’s obtained this information, troubled about where this conversation is leading, Meredith pulls Bunny into her, but Bunny pushes her away, a dance in the snow flurries. “It is not your fault, Bunny.”
“But why isn’t anyone talking about it?”
“Who did you hear that from?” Meredith asks, paranoid, unsure how she’s going to get out of this, a crack of truth revealing itself under the foundation of her entire life.
Bunny searches for something to say, afraid to tell her mother about Anthony because she knows she’ll be punished for it. “I… read it online somewhere.”
“Those are rumors—stop reading garbage online written by websites with zero credibility,” Meredith scoffs. “Conspiracy theories—Jesus, Bunny, you know better than that, and we know the truth. That man who murdered the Banks family is a sick, sick man who is severely mentally ill! And unfortunately, this is a reality we are living in today, and, and…” Meredith flounders, desperate to prevent her world from being cracked wide open. “I’m just so sorry that you’re privy to so many shootings and so much horror at such a young age,” she says, shoving the truth toward mainstream tragedies and away from her complicity. “But there is nothing we can do to change it. Let’s go home now, okay? It’s starting to snow.”
“That’s not true!” Bunny says, shivering and blinking and furrowing her brow, the flat light making her eyes hurt, a migraine coming.
“Bunny, you can keep pushing against the grain, but it won’t bring Audrey back. It won’t fix this. Accept it. Accept it, Bunny. Come on. Let’s go home.”
“I’m not talking about bringing Audrey back!” Bunny yells, wiping her eyes. “I’m talking about entering the twenty-first century. HELLO. Look around you, everything is available, any information we want about anyone: their history, their possessions, their properties, their family members, names and addresses and cell phone numbers.… Did you know Audrey used to brag about her clothes and jewelry and post photos of herself on her family’s private jet? People—strangers can see it, poor people can see it, people who WE WHITE RICH PEOPLE have been oppressing for centuries! And people are starting to talk about it, because people are dying—even the people running for president are talking about it! WAKE UP.”
Bunny has knocked the wind out of Meredith, thrusting her own deepest fears into light; connected by blood though alien in ideology, the two women share a history, and Bunny is rapidly pushing Meredith to confront it, unraveling their legacy before her very eyes without truly knowing the depths of it, the horror of it, their own family’s part in it.
“… And maybe that’s why some people think they deserved it,” Bunny finishes.
There’s a look of terror in Meredith’s eyes, her nose red from the cold, her cheeks rosy. “I don’t even know who you are right now. How dare you insinuate something like that? No one on this earth deserves to die.”
“That’s right, Mom. No one. Including those they killed.”
“This conversation is over, I’m going home.” Meredith begins to cross the street.
“What do you know about the Bankses’ business? Did they pay families off? Billionaires just buying everyone off!” Bunny shouts.
Meredith turns around, stunned; she actually wonders if her daughter has bugged the house, is she listening to her conversations with Phyllis? “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a question I’m wondering whether you know the answer to? Did they pay off families that they killed from their chemical dumping?” Bunny crosses her arms.
Meredith, frozen from fear, bewilderment, literally laughs. “Bunny, sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you need to go home and get some sleep, it’s been a very tough few months,” she says, gaslighting, condescendingly brushing off Bunny’s accusations.
“Are we going to be next?” Bunny asks. “Because I’m not interested in being on the wrong side of history.”
“You stop it, stop it right now.” Meredith points her finger at her. “Your father and I have given you a spectacular life, don’t you dare insult the hard work of your ancestors, your great-grandfather, a World War II hero.”
“If killing thousands upon thousands of innocent children and mothers and fathers means he’s a war hero, sure!” Bunny yells, refraining from more tears. Everything is unwinding within her, her sense of history, her pride, her family values, her moral compass swaying with each assumption that’s been proven wrong. She doesn’t know who to turn to when she doesn’t want her future and she doesn’t want her past.
“Are you insane?” Meredith says. “No more news for you. No more Internet, I’m going to take that phone away from you if you keep this up. Is this how you want to remember a lifelong friend? Is this how you want to honor her legacy? By trampling all over it with resentments from strangers and false, ridiculous conspiracy theories? Is this how you’d want us to be remembered? Your father is going to be so disappointed when he finds out about this.”
