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NOW

Ihave a an Slit ht slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could sto with it I was never a good little girl, and I got worse after the rew up sullen and boneless, shuffled around a group of lesser relatives—second cousins and great-aunts and friends of friends—stuck in a series of oing to school in my dead sisters’ hand-y bottoedy belt cinched to the farthest hole In class photosloosely froles—and I always had bulging pockets undercurve of the lips where a smile should be Maybe

I was not a lovable child, and I’d grown into a deeply unlovable adult Draw a picture of s

IT WAS MISERABLE, wet-bone March and I was lying in bed thinking about killing : A shotgun,once, twice, blood on the wall Spatter, splatter “Did she want to be buried or cremated?” people would ask “Who should come to the funeral?” And no one would know The people, whoever they were, would just look at each other’s shoes or shoulders until the silence settled in and then someone would put on a pot of coffee, briskly and with a fair areat with sudden death

I pushed a foot out fro uess, depressed I guess I’ve been depressed for about twenty-four years I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there—hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen within et up, do sorow up, hteredbang, chop chop, choke choke I didn’t really have to do anything after that, nothing was expected

I inherited 321,374 when I turned eighteen, the result of all those ishers who’d read about one out to me Whenever I hear that phrase, and I hear it a lot, I picture juicy doodle-hearts, co toward one of irl self at the aving and grabbing each bright heart, green cash sprinkling down on me, thanks, thanks a ton! When I was still a kid, the donations were placed in a conservatively ed bank account, which, back in the day, saw a juazine or news station ran an update on me Little Libby’s Brand New Day: The Lone Survivor of the Prairie Massacre Turns a Bittersweet 10 (Me in scruffy pigtails on the possum-pissed lawn outside my Aunt Diane’s trailer Diane’s thick tree-calves, exposed by a rare skirt, planted in the yellow grass behind me) Brave Baby Day’s Sweet 16! (Me, still loith birthday candles, one D-cup that year, comic-book sized on my tiny frame, ridiculous, porny)

I’d lived off that cash for one I had a one Once a year the , pink-cheeked banker nain the twenty-dollar range and talk about h, after all, heheh As forabout Ji the appointments always froet it over with Single-word answers, tired sighs (The one thing I suspected about Jim Jeffreys was that he must be Christian, churchy—he had the patience and opti) I wasn’t due for a “checkup” for another eight or nine es in a serious, hushed voice, saying he’d done all he could to extend the “life of the fund,” but it was time to think about “next steps”

And here again caht about that other little tabloid girl, Ja, who’d lost her family the same year—1985 She’d had part of her face burned off in a fire her dad set that killed everyone else in her fairl, and how if she hadn’t stolen my thunder, I’d have twice as much money That Ja fancy handbags and jewelry and buttery department-store makeup to s to think, of course I at least knew that

Finally, finally, finally I pulled roan and wandered to the front of aloithin a loop of other salows, all of which squat on athe former stockyards of Kansas City Kansas City, Missouri, not Kansas City, Kansas There’s a difference

My neighborhood doesn’t even have a naotten It’s called Over There That Way A weird, subprialows are packed with old people who’ve lived in the-like, behind screen s, peering out at all hours Sometimes they walk to their cars on careful elderly tiptoes that o help But they wouldn’t like that They are not friendly old people—they are tight-lipped, pissed-off old people who do not appreciate hbor, this new person The whole area hums with their disapproval So there’s the noise of their disdain and there’s the skinny red dog two doors doho barks all day and howls all night, the constant background noise you don’t realize is driving you crazy until it stops, just a few blessed hborhood’s only cheerful sound I usually sleep through: thecoos of toddlers A troop of them, round-faced and multilayered, walk to some daycare hidden even farther in the rat’s nest of streets behindpiece of rope trailed by a grown-up They , but I have not once seen them return For all I know, they troddle around the entire world and return in ti Whatever the story, I airls and a boy, all with a fondness for bright red jackets—and when I don’t see them, when I oversleep, I actually feel blue Bluer That’d be the wordas dramatic as depressed I’ve had the blues for twenty-four years

I PUT ON a skirt and blouse for the irl clothes never quite fitting I’m barely five foot— four foot, ten inches in truth, but I round up Sue , like they want to give erpaints

I headed downinto its busybody barking On the pavement near my car are the smashed sk

eletons of two baby birds, their flattened beaks and wingsthem look reptilian They’ve been there for a year I can’t resist looking at theood flood, wash them away

Two elderly wo on the front steps of a house across the street, and I could feel the to see me I don’t know anyone’s name If one of those women died, I couldn’t even say, “Poor old Mrs Zalinsky died” I’d have to say, “That mean old bitch across the street bit it”

Feeling like a child ghost, I climbed into my anonymous midsized car, which see for someone from the dealership to show up and tell me the obvious: “It’s a joke You can’t actually drive this We were kidding” I trance-droveinto the steakhouse parking lot twentyabout my tardiness

I was supposed to call him from my cell phone when I arrived so he could trot out and escort reat, old-school KC steakhouse—is surrounded by hollowed-out buildings that concern him, as if a troop of rapists was perto be The Guy Who Let So bad can happen to BRAVE BABY DAY, LITTLE GIRL LOST, the pathetic, red-headed seven-year-old with big blue eyes, the only one who survived the PRAIRIE MASSACRE, the KANSAS CRAZE-KILLINGS, the FARMHOUSE SATAN SACRIFICE My mom, two older sisters, all butchered by Ben The only one left, I’d fingered hihtnews The Enquirer put e with the headline ANGEL FACE

I peered into the rearview mirror and could see my baby face even now My freckles were faded, andand my eyes kitten-round I dyed rown in It looked like ht It looked gory I lit a cigarette I’d go for arette I’ sticks

“Let’s go, Baby Day,” I said aloud It’s what I callhateful

I got out of the car and sarette in ht hand so I didn’t have to look at the left hand, the rant clouds floated in packs across the sky like buffalo, and the sun was just low enough to spray everything pink Toward the river, between the looping highway rarain elevators sat vacant, dusk-black and pointless

I walked across the parking lot all by lass I was not attacked It was, after all, just past 5 pm Jim Jeffreys was an early-bird eater, proud of it

He was sitting at the bar when I walked in, sipping a pop, and the first thing he did, as I kneould, was grab his cell phone from his jacket pocket and stare at it as if it had betrayed him

“Did you call?” he frowned

“No, I forgot,” I lied

He slad you’re here, sweetheart Ready to talk turkey?”

He slapped two bucks on the bartop, andyellow stuffing fros as I slid in A whoof of cigarette stink burped out of the cushions

Jim Jeffreys never drank liquor in front of me, and never asked lass of red wine and watched hi but Jim Jeffreys–like What kind of red? the waiter asked, and I had no idea, really—I never could remember the names of reds or whites, or which part of the name you were supposed to say out loud, so I just said, House He ordered a steak, I ordered a double-stuffed baked potato, and then the waiter left and Jih and said, “Well, Libby, we are entering a very new and different stage here together”

“So howsaytenthousandsayten thousand

“Do you read those reports I send you?”