>>815280004We roll up to her place around 8:30. It's some kind of group home deal in a working-class neighborhood near the school. I walk her up to the front door, and am about to say goodnight when she hits me with it:
"Do you want to come inside?"
I swear to God I almost asked if her friend, the sped TA, told her to say that. But instead, I said that it was getting late, and...
"It's only 8:30, plus tomorrow isn't even a school night."
I ask aren't there any rules about bringing guests inside past a certain time.
"Yeah, but people break them all the time. No one really cares."
I stood there dumbly for a second or two, wondering whether she really knew the implication of what she was asking, or if she was simply repeating a line she'd heard on a movie or TV show, then she said,
"I have a bottle of wine in my room."
I remember I once attended a seminar on teaching kids with intellectual disabilities. The main message was that, retardation notwithstanding, they're basically ordinary people, with all the same aspirations, same fears, same desires. I figured Claire was no different. She knew exactly what she wanted. On one hand, I didn't want to risk upsetting her and thus pissing off her friend the TA. On the other, the ethically questionable allure of bedding a retarded chick was too much for me to resist. I went inside.
