The elephant god was watching Hilary in case Hilary's soul got wedged on a roof somewhere or stuck in deep shit. (Probably take you ten thousand years to get out). But this time Hilary was too cool for the infinite compassion of god. In her secret heart Hilary pitied those lameass resource room girls like Sarah L.and the other sister in The Other Sister, who never risked having to scrape peices of their souls off ashphalt.
I am not a retard, Hilary said to herself aloud for the ten thousand twenty millionth time, and I do not have to be like those dumb triangles in flatland.
(In flatland the special needs triangles lived strapped to the floor for other people to feel. Hilary hated them).
Well sure, said Hilary's mom on the phone. Good greif. Hilary's mom said she thought it was not becoming for a young woman to struggle morbidly with matters of the heart.
Hilary and her father sat on the deck drinking Frangelico. Young lady, said Hilary's father sharply, watch your pride.
The thing about intelligent choices is that they feel cold to the touch, like a park bench not a person, like an ox shaped drum that is not going to be stricken by a mallett wrapped in cotton any time soon.
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