Lullabies for Little Criminals

by Heather O'Neill

When you are vulnerable, the worst of society will fail you too.

His face broke into a grin. And his big smile—in the way that smiles sometimes can—fixed things between us. I felt a rush of relief come over me. It was an unexpected warm feeling like the way your lips feel when you kiss in the rain. He wrenched himself up and hurried across the room to me.

I’m always going to be a misfit,” Jules said and sighed. “There’s always going to be something wrong with me. But not you. You’re really smart. You could go to school or to university. You have a good sense of humor.

Jules and I were tiny people. We were delicate. We were almost destroyed. We were vulnerable. Like nerds in a school yard of bullies, we could have traded our stamps and cards of extinct animals. That’s the kind of people we would be if our situation were different.

He stood up on a chair and called out to no one in particular, “My stay at this fine establishment is going to have to terminate sooner than I thought, I’m afraid. It’s been lovely, however. Business has called me elsewhere. Don’t worry. I didn’t steal any of the rats.”

We were waiting for some sort of sign that we were in the right place. Then a van came rattling down the road.

Then Janine stepped over to me and squeezed me hard. I could feel my heart beating when she hugged me against her, but now it felt fine. Then she held me in front of her, taking a good look at me. Her big blue eyes looked just like Jules’s, and I guess mine too. Her green winter jacket smelled like rain.