“Sorry,” she said, lunging at her eye which was lodged between the floor and the heel of my left shoe. “I can’t get it to stay in.”

The casualness with which she spoke of her abnormality offended me. She glanced at me with her one good eye, looked away in feigned innocence.

I retrieved her eye, offered it to her from my open palm. I figured she rolled her eye in my direction on purpose. She figured, I figured, that since I’m a retard she could become my retard friend, sister in arms.

“How did that happen,”she asked. Everybody else pretended not to notice. But she spoke with the confidence of a retarded Other, identified some sort of twisted commonality between us.

I looked her up and down, decided I would try to fuck her. I answered. “You did this.” I traced the hole in my chest, pointed to where my heart used to be.

She stared at me with her one good eye, the other eye now in her hand. “No I didn’t.”

I responded with a sigh: “Then who did?”

She shrugged, answered, “You did,” offered me the knife I gave her for her birthday, stained red now.