Every once in a while, I stumble across mentions of A City of Ghosts that I just don’t even know what to do with. Someone saying something about how she loved this turn of phrase or someone else talking about how the only thing she wants to do is dip back into it. And it makes me feel so, not even proud, something bigger than proud. I feel so humbled and amazed. I mean, I expected people I knew to buy it and I hoped people I didn’t know would buy it, but to hear people talking about it like they love it–and not for my benefit–just makes me feel like the luckiest person ever. It makes me feel like I made something bigger than me, that can go on without me.
Anyway, I got home and made dinner for the Redheaded Kid and the Butcher. My lawn was mowed and my kitchen was cleaned. The Butcher tried to act like he’d done it, but I think we all know the truth! The Red-Headed Kid is our brownie! And we were all watching TV and the Red-Headed Kid was like “God damn it, Betsy. Your house is so full of ghosts that, if you sit still for longer than five seconds, you freeze to death.” Then he pulled a blanket around him.
“It’s not that cold in here,” I said.
“Because the spirits like you.”
I think I’ve finally become the creepy person I always hoped I would be.