The Girls I've Been(30)

Deputy Reynolds: Sir, she’s been leading the negotiation. If he doesn’t see her— Sheriff Adams: That’s an order, Reynolds. You stay back, too.

O’Malley: Like it or not, I am leading this negotiation. When this is over and everyone’s out safe, you can have all the credit and the glory. But if you continue to get in my way and something happens to the hostages, you’re going to be blamed. So you need to move back about three steps and let me take care of this for you. Do we understand each other?

[Pause]

Sheriff Adams: Yes.

O’Malley: Then I’m going to make the call.

Sheriff Adams: If this goes to hell . . .

O’Malley: It won’t.

[Pause. O’Malley dials bank number. Three rings.]

HT1: Is everything in place?

O’Malley: The welding machine is ready.

HT1: I want all the cops in the front. If I see anyone but you waiting for the hostage in the back alley, we’ll start shooting.

Sheriff Adams (background): Fucking A.

O’Malley: It’ll just be me.

Sheriff Adams (background, muffled): Fucking madness. Fucking PIs.

HT1: Five minutes.

O’Malley: See you there.

[Call disconnected]

Sheriff Adams: Someone get O’Malley a vest! What have you got on you, O’Malley?

O’Malley: My Glock . . . and my Winchester’s in the truck.

Sheriff Adams: I’d strap the rifle to my back if I were you.

O’Malley: It’s a rare moment when you and I agree, Sheriff. I’m gonna take it as good luck.

Sheriff Adams: Get in that vest. And don’t get shot. I’ll never hear the end of it.

[Muffled noises and voices, unable to transcribe. Time passed: 3 minutes, 18 seconds. From Official Report: Deputies retreated to the front of the bank, leaving O’Malley at the back entrance.]

O’Malley: Milwaukee. Akron. Austin. San Francisco. Seattle. Rochester. Milwaukee. Akron. Austin. San Francisco. Seattle. Rochester. Milwaukee. Akron. Austin. San— [Banging sound]

O’Malley: Hands where I can see them!

HT1: I thought we were being civilized about this.

O’Malley: Is that what you call pointing a gun at a middle-schooler?

HT1: Desperate times.

O’Malley: Let the kid come toward me, you get the welding machine pushed toward you. Deal?

HT1: Deal.

O’Malley: On three. One. Two. Three.

HT1: Go.

[From Official Report: Hostage #1 (ID: Casey Frayn, age 11) crosses the alley and into police custody. O’Malley kicks the dolly with the welding equipment toward HT1. He retreats back inside the bank.]

O’Malley: Hey, hey, you okay? Did they hurt you? What’s your name? I need paramedics down here!

Casey Frayn: Are you Lee? Are you her sister?

O’Malley: Yes. Is she okay?

Casey Frayn: She told me to tell you that he’s a Raymond. Do you understand that? He’s gonna kill them. All of them. She didn’t think I knew, but I could tell. I could feel it. She told me to . . . Here . . . I have it . . . She— Unidentified Deputy: Ambulance will be here in two minutes.

O’Malley: Take her. Get her out of here. And for God’s sake, someone call her mother.

Deputy Reynolds: What’s that?

O’Malley: Nothing.

Deputy Reynolds: Lee. You just put something in your pocket.

O’Malley: No, I didn’t.

Deputy Reynolds: Lee. I—

O’Malley: No. I didn’t. Now let’s go figure out when the hell SWAT is gonna arrive. Otherwise it’ll take a miracle to get everyone safely out of the bank.





— 30 —


    The Pool


Two Months Ago



When Iris and I start dating, we keep it secret. I feel guilty that I’m relieved she’s not ready to be out to her mom, because I know hiding is hard. But not telling anyone makes things so much easier for me. It surrounds us in this little bubble that I don’t want to pop with the real world.

I’ve been living in a world of truth with Wes and Lee for years now, and when I have to close shut doors I’ve flung open, it hurts. I’m delaying the inevitable with Wes by not telling him about Iris, and lying to Lee about certain things is just the way it is, but Iris is . . .

I have a blank slate with her, and the last time I had that, it was with Wes. I filled it with lies and thought they were written in permanent ink, but really, they were chalk, and they wore away as love and safety worked me free of them. Wes saw through them.

Iris will see through me. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But she’ll figure it out unless I figure out how to tell.

Her ponytail is silk against my arm, her head resting on my stomach. It pleases me more than I can say, getting to play with her hair. I thought it might remind me of the fall and the swing of blond against my back, the heat of it in the summer, my mother’s hands weaving it into each girl’s hairstyle, but it’s different when it’s not mine. Iris’s hair smells like jasmine, like the bush that’s in front of our mailbox that only blooms at night, and it reminds me of the place it took me forever to think of as home.

“Your phone’s buzzing,” she tells me, and then she reaches over to grab it from the desk set next to her bed. I take it, and see that it’s Terry calling.