Crooked Little Heart by Anne Lamott Page B

as early morning sun. She was a powerful child, though—perhaps the natural result of her having started school a year late. Elizabeth had always been aware of her power to hurt. Even at five, Simone had had the ability to turn men’s heads, with her pouty lips and long thick yellow hair and plastic high heels. Yet she could also be surprisingly loyal and tender. Elizabeth could remember driving home after a day on the beach, not too long after Andrew died, Rosie and Simone side by side in the back seat of their old station wagon. Simone still had half a bag of potato chips left, while Rosie had eaten all of hers. Simone took one small bite of a chip and then handed it to Rosie, who took a tiny bite also, and they did this until it was gone, a potato chip communion.
    Even at that age she could make the world stop turning with her will, her games. Elizabeth and Rosie used to drop by her house on their way to the park and stand waiting on her doorstep while Simone tried to make up her mind about whether to go with them or not. Head down, toeing the ground, clinging to her mother’s dresses, refusing to commit—she exerted the power of the held breath, the power of not taking anything or giving anything away. It was a very quiet tantrum, and it must have been such hideous fun to watch the parents fling themselves around trying to get her to do what they wanted.
    The girls had played together nearly every day that year.
    So it came as a shock when, after Veronica had dropped Simone off early one morning, Simone announced primly, “This is the last time I’m coming over, Mrs. Ferguson.”
    “But you two have so much fun together,” Elizabeth protested.
    “I need to make new friends besides Rosie,” said Simone.
    But, Elizabeth wanted to cry, you are her only friend, and her daddy has just died. And she only weighs forty pounds in this heavy world! Elizabeth wanted to shout, “Get out of here or I’ll set the dogs on you!” But they had no dogs.
    Rosie was trying very hard to stay cool. Once she had cried when she had to say good-bye to Simone, and Simone had said, “This is very disappointing, Rosie.”
    Now Elizabeth said, “Simone? You will always be welcome at this house.” She did not mean it for a second. What she did mean was—You don’t want us? Well. We don’t want you. In fact, we hate you.
    Rosie looked stricken but did not cry. “Honey?” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay. I honestly don’t think Simone means it.”
    “Yes, I do,” said Simone.
    It was so painful to endure your child’s pain, especially a broken heart.
    She took the two children to preschool, although Rosie had barely blinked in the last half hour. Then she spent the morning reading the paper. She wondered if Simone was just panicking because Veronica was talking about their moving to another state. Or maybe the tiny cruel part of her heart had started beating all of a sudden. There are so many reasons why a small child’s heart turns hard.
    That afternoon, Elizabeth and Rosie were reading on the floor in the living room, when Veronica called to see if Rosie could come over to play at their house.
    Oh, I’m sorry, Elizabeth wanted to say. Rosie’s a little booked up. Maybe next week—no, no, wait, next week’s no good …
    But instead they met Simone and her mother in the park ten minutes later. Simone’s announcement was never mentioned again.
    S OMETIME later, before kindergarten began, Simone and Veronica moved to Vail. They came back for visits from time to time, but by first grade Rosie had become best friends with Sharon Thackery. Then when Rosie was eight and a half, Sharon and her family moved out of town. Rosie’s heart was broken. She began taking tennis lessons, and at ten years old she entered and won her first tournament. She started looking around for a doubles partner. She had a new best friend named Tina, but they were not completely dedicated to each other, as Rosie and Sharon had been. And