We’re talking about grades. She doesn’t tell me hers but I tell her mine.
“You’re so freaking smart,” she texts. I smile at the screen. “Give me your brain,” she jokes.
What a novel thought. Images from the various Frankenstein movies I’ve seen over my life flash in my mind. The storm, the lightening, the seam where the head was sewn up. I laugh.
“You can have the chunk with migraines,” I text back. Intelligence comes at a price. Anxiety, depression, migraines, headaches.
Facebook boops, “Uhhhh,” she texts, “no,” she replies.
She got the choice and said no. I never got a choice.