Midgets the flypaper. Dags the fly. When they wrap their eight arms around each other it makes a duck tape sound cuz a how flypapers stick to pipe insulation. Dag asks Midge real soft if she knows flypaper has arsenic in it. Yo, for real? I didnt know that myself. That seems like important wisdom to know.

* * *

Dagflys exactly who Midges been waiting for since the day I first knew her foster ass and she puts her whispery mouth to Dags ear and all the secrets Midges got stored up all this time comes pouring out like dog blood, like pumpkin guts, and Dags eyes pop like shes shocked and then go sad like shes sad and then go thoughtful. I shut the door behind us and lean on it and observe the whole living room scene real respectful and listen to the musical geniuses Barenaked Ladies do their last song. Cant hear a word my girlies are whispering but thats all right. Thats all right. I feel pretty dang lucky just to be here.

Lotte,

Your fish are dead. Surprise. They’ve been dead the whole time. Right after Mama and Papa locked you up, they decreed the Big Flush. Morrissey, Johnny, Andy, and Mike went loop de loop until they took the big waterslide to the sewer. Mama didn’t think I could care for them properly while juggling my copious activities. I cried like a little brat back then, but Mama was right. If something’s destined to croak, don’t let it swim around forever suffering. You’re the one who said the Clinic is a fish bowl. Do you wish the docs would give you the Big Flush?

I didn’t finish your last letter. I got to the part where you said you were “acutely concerned” about me, and laughed until I cried and the letter got too soggy to read, although I give you props for scrounging up flowered stationery in the Clinic. You realize that’s where you live, right? And what that makes you? I have the highest grade point average in my class. I’m the president of six clubs. I’m athletic and artistic. I’m a B-cup. I’m beautiful.

I can do anything I want.

When Mrs. Rivers my dance teacher claps like a retarded seal, I imagine she’s trying to put out the fire I set to her dress. When Mr. Homewood the gymnastics coach tells me to run the routine again, I imagine doing it naked like I know he wants, so I can watch him cry in shame over his boner. When Ms. Tubb my Quiz Bowl coach says, “What’s the capital of Botswana?” I say “Gaborone,” but what I hear from my mouth is, “How much wine do you have to drink, Ms. Tubb, to live with being this pathetic?”

Wow, am I looking forward to not pretending anymore.