But when the detective showed up and we spelled it out for her—the stepfather, the mother, the suicide, the other kid still in the house—we realized it would be many, many dawns before anyone cared about the girl in the canal. It would be until the earth wilted, until time stopped, until the sun burned itself to a handful of dust, until Judgment Day came and we were raised from our coffins and canals and back-alleys and bedrooms, until we were called up to heaven and then maybe, someone would care about the fucking girl in the canal.
