Photographs have an annoying habit of corroding whatever real memories you have of a moment until the photo is all that’s left, but with Samantha’s tattoo I can still feel the tip of that Magic Marker pressing against my stomach. I’m in my underwear because it’s hot. I’m sitting upside down on the couch because that way it’s easier for me to draw the monster so it’s right side up when I look down at it. It’s a big monster because the marker feels so excellently cool and wet on my skin. My belly button is supposed to be it winking. My underwear is supposed to be its hat.

Lillian could have cropped this into a photo of a cute kid doodling on her belly, but that isn’t the point. The point is that the couch is a swamp of books, toys, and newspapers, and our makeshift coffee table is a dirty-dish graveyard. The monster I’m scribbling onto my upside-down half-naked self is basically the room’s spirit animal. Lillian meant for the shot to be both a little funny and a little alarming, and she succeeded. As I think I mentioned, she wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper. But even back in the bad old 1950s, crummy housekeeping or letting your kid draw on herself was not against the law.

So there I stood under my photos, waiting to be famous. Grete and Kaja showed up with paper and pen to ask for my John Hancock, but mostly I was bored. Proud but bored. Not many people came. The ones who did mostly stuck by Nina and Lillian, except for a few passersby who looked like they were from the neighborhood. I watched them, trying to figure out what they thought. Nina had told me that anyone who really liked the photos could buy them, giving me ideas about owning a bicycle like the one I’d ridden in Cleveland; but Lillian had advised me not to hold my breath. Still, when one lady stood looking at my pictures for a long time, I decided to make my move.

They’re for sale, you know, I said, tugging her arm. She looked down at me, wide-eyed, her nose twitching. Is that you in these . . . pictures? she asked. Sure is, lady, I gloated, and you can buy as many as you want.

For a second before walking out, she stared at me, her nostrils flaring like I was a bad smell. After she was gone, Nina sidled over and asked me what I’d said. When I told her, she laughed and said next time to leave the hard sell to her.