My friend has a window in her head. But don’t take my word for it! She often talks about it. It doesn’t even strike me as odd anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. It seems normal now. You should have something in your head, why not a window? At least you won’t be blocking anyone’s view. And my friend has always been considerate to a fault.

And, thanks to her window, also transparent. It makes understanding her so much easier. Sure, people stare at first when we’re out together, but they stare at her and not me. I think they’re just jealous, but I’m not sure of whom.

The first time she told me about her window, I took a close look. Nothing. No glass, no frame, no curtains. Nothing. I asked her to lift the hair on the back of her neck. Nice neck, but no window. I was puzzled, but I didn’t push it. After all, she’s my friend.

She told me how she used the window to look at things, to keep the cold out, to get places. I had to assume that she couldn’t use a door because she didn’t have one. That’s okay. I liked the idea of escaping through a window better.

After a while, I began to see it. To tell you the truth, I don’t understand how I could have missed it earlier. There, on the left side of her head, halfway between her temple and her ear, was the window she’d been talking about all along. How blind I had been!

And what a wonderful window it was. I could imagine myself sitting at it for hours on end, preferably in a rocking chair, enjoying the view. But the window is hers, and there’s not enough room for the two of us to sit. Certainly not with a rocking chair.

She knew what I was thinking, or course. After all, it was written all over my face. She spoke tenderly: You’re a friend. I left it open for you to see. You’ll have to make your own.

And then she gently drew the curtains shut.