signs, loves them all.
OCCUPY WITH ART!
TAX THE MILLIONAIRES!
WE ARE THE 99%!
She bumps into a woman dressed as a zombie.
What do you represent? the zombie asks, though Bea thinks the question should be the other way around. Bea clumsily shoves a pamphlet in the zombie’s hands. The zombie sneers and tosses it to the ground and Bea feels like an idiot as she watches it get trampled by protesters. She feels even worse when her next few encounters prove to be as fruitless. She can’t seem to find the words to make people listen to her for long. She should be able to connect with their skepticism, to break through it, because she too was once a skeptic—but she can’t remember what that felt like. If they could see inside her heart, they’d run to her, ask her to speak it.
She watches Casey and the others work the crowd effortlessly, handing over as many pamphlets as they’ve brought. They seem to know exactly who to approach and how. They preach Lev’s gospel without making it seem like preaching. Bea spends more time watching Casey than doing anything herself.
Have you heard of Lev Warren?
We’re a group based out in the Hudson Valley …
I like your sign. I know someone who’d agree with it …
What The Unity Project offers is a lot like this …
How is Bea so bad at this?
Doesn’t she believe enough?
She can feel Casey’s eyes on her, assessing her, so Bea folds herself into the crowd, moving toward two girls who look as uncertain as she feels. They’re holding hands.
Here, Bea says stupidly, thrusting a pamphlet at one of them.
They don’t take it. They wordlessly move away from her.
Hey, what’s that? Can I have one?
A man materializes from nowhere and Bea can tell by the way his eyes greedily roam her body there’s only one thing he’s really interested in. She wordlessly hands a pamphlet to him. He studies it for a moment and then makes a face.
Lev Warren? That cult asshole who thinks he’s God?
Bea takes a step back, as pissed as she is embarrassed and then ashamed for being embarrassed. Embarrassment is supposed to be beyond those who know God’s truth.
He’s not an asshole, Bea snaps. He’s real.
Sure.
The man rolls his eyes. Casey moves toward them and Bea feels her face get hot in the wake of still more failure. She ends up blurting out, He brought a girl back from the dead!
The man stares at Bea and then bursts into raucous laughter, reaching out and grabbing someone as they pass.
Hey, you’ll never believe what this chick just told me …
It’s true! The hot fury invading Bea’s body is greater than all common sense. Lev Warren brought a girl back from the dead!
Bea, Casey says sharply, grabbing her by the elbow. They move away from the immediate crowd and Bea’s anger disappears, a series of apologies falling from her lips, which feels worse than anything has felt so far—like she’s denying Lev.
Do not give them a reason to discredit us, Casey says.
But it’s true, Bea replies weakly.
People aren’t ready for the truth.
During the march to Union Square, Jenny gets trapped in a wave of protesters and the push and pull of the crowd sends her to the ground. She lands hard on her wrist. She says it’s fine, but by late afternoon, is surprised to discover it swollen and purple—broken. Bea volunteers to take her to the hospital, hoping to seize at least one opportunity to be useful before the day is over. Casey is happy to let her have it. In the taxi, tears stream silently down Jenny’s face and Bea realizes Jenny probably knew her wrist wasn’t fine long before she ever said something. Bea asks her why she didn’t say something.
The work is more important, Jenny whispers. And then, Maybe it’s because we’re too far away from Lev. Something bad was bound to happen.
A chill courses over Bea’s body. Jenny has articulated something that cuts straight to everything Bea’s been feeling. The inherent warmth, love and safety of Lev’s presence is absent here. She felt something akin to it in Bryant Park, but it was incomplete and in its incompleteness, they were left vulnerable and harm happened to them.
She wants to go back home.
The feeling intensifies at the hospital. She hasn’t stepped foot in one in what feels like a longer time than it’s actually been. Her body rebels; she’s instantly nauseous, overcome with sense memories. The antiseptic smell, the crude overhead lights, the almost-music