SOUTH PARK IS A SHOW BY TREY PARKER & MATT STONE

Timmy was seeing him as clearly as he was seeing David—that was his desk, behind Kenny, slowly pushed to the back because the kids always took the best places by force and Pip was too polite to tell them to fuck themselves.

He saw him focused to decypher what Mr. Garrison was explaining, or, actually, how knowing about Barnaby Jones was going to help him get a job one day. But when someone looked at him, his expression would always turn into a smile. Even if he flinched when that kind gesture was not kindly received, he always did it anyway. That was what he loved about him, what made him fall in love with him.

At that time, when he moved to South Park, he had it very difficult to make friends. His coming was a shock to everybody. Teachers were not ready to respond to his necessities and mistook his lack of ability reading, speaking and operating with numbers, to focus and behave, as signs of a supposed ADHD. Children didn't know how to play with him at first, because he couldn't speak or get up from his wheelchair, and some mothers told them that he was very fragile and should be handled with great caution. Adults couldn't invite his parents for dinner, first of all, because they had no accessible houses, and second, because they couldn't speak either—how could a family integrate in the community if they couldn't speak like normal people? For a long time, Timmy and his family were alone, trying to figure out how to reach those people the same way they did

Pip was the first kid who came to him. Despite being abled, he had had a very cold welcome there, at the school. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he spoke or looked. Timmy had to admit that he looked and sounded funny, but he liked it, so different. He introduced himself as Pip, even though his actual name was Phillip, and mentioned that the other boys had something to do with it. Pip sounded good. It was easier for him to pronounce. Pip used to smile whenever he got to say it, he said he sounded like a little bird chirping.

His jokes were not as cruel as the other boys'. He was too soft-spoken for that. Timmy only heard him curse once in all years he knew him, and it was when somebody called him 'frenchie'. Dear God, he cursed like a sailor.

"Timmy, dude."

Craig was passing him a paper. Timmy went back to Earth and grabbed it, but he didn't read it or listen to what the teacher had to say about it having to be signed by their parents. If David had caught him staring at his desk, he would have thought he had something in his face of something.

It was not the first time he found himself in the middle of the class remembering Pip all of a sudden. It happened to him mostly at school, where they shared a lot of moments. Since he came, Pip didn't have to spend the recess alone—he once told him that he used to hang out with Damien, but that guy never went back to school, apparently, after setting him on fire. Perhaps he did it at first because he saw he was as lonely as him and pitied him, but Timmy always thought they had so much fun together. Pip tried from the beginning to find out what he said.

"Timmy. Never has a word had so many meanings."

He was hearing him saying that.

He actually did it. After months of hanging out, Pip was able to tell if Timmy was being sarcastic, if he was happy, sad, angry, stressed or indifferent. With a bit of context, he was able to find out the meaning of those five letters repeated again and again. He once came up with an idea: a letter board, which he could use to form words. However, he was surprised to find that all he was able to spell was 'Timmy'. He never thought he was messing with him. He would never think of that. He liked it when Pip smiled and was happy.

He liked Pip.

He had always felt the tendency of liking people who paid attention to him and made an actual effort to know him. He would always follow them everywhere, tell them about his day in his own particular language and get really happy whenever they were around. Pip was never bothered about it, or at least never got to say it. Every day, he said hello to him, asked him how everything was going and they went to the cafeteria to have lunch together.

When people started paying attention to him, perhaps after his short collaboration with Lords of the Underworld—all he had to do to convince them that he wasn't that unapproachable was doing something cool?—, Timmy regretted to say that he left Pip aside a little bit. Like, he suddenly found people giving a fuck about him, asking him about his day, helping him with his wheelchair and other things he couldn't quite do himself. It was a bit overwhelming. But they still talked and spent time together. He remembered when they pressured the school to introduce a Special Education department and kids like him finally had a place to learn at their pace, with everything they needed, it was Pip the one whose wrist he grabbed and dragged to show him his spot.

Words couldn't express how much he liked having Pip in his life.

"Oh, and before I forget, boys and girls, there is something you have to know..."

Something you have to know...

Timmy felt shivers at those words. They sounded like what Mr. Garrison said when he came to class and said...

"Well, class, some of you may already know, but...It seems like Barbra Streisand, in her destructive rage, killed one of your partners, Pip Pirrup. Glad none of us had to see that gigantic foot crushing him and all these people with shovels trying to unstick him from the pavement. I want you to take a moment to appreciate that poor boy and remember him—but not now: we have an exam to correct."

He remembered the cold. As if he found himself naked in the snow.

Pip...He couldn't be. He had to come back. This was a joke, of course. But he never came back. And his photo appeared in the hall of honor, along with the photos of Chef, Ms. Choksondik, Ms. Crabtree and Gordon Stoltski. It wasn't a macabre prank. Garrison wasn't lying. Pip was dead.

He also felt angry at him. His name was not Pip, it was Phillip. He couldn't pronounce his name, but Garrison could, everyone could. He didn't like being called Pip, he was just used to it because he knew he couldn't do anything about it. It was Phillip Pirrup!

Nobody seemed too affected by the news. Nobody liked that guy anyway, so he wouldn't be missed. They usually forgot about him even when he was present. The kids laughed, pranked, played and shouted as if there was not one less kid at class.

There, then, he felt that freezing sensation again, even if summer was coming.

"If anyone is interested, you will find the list at the hallway, you just have to sign and-Timmy? Timmy, what's the matter?"

All heads turned to the right extreme of the class. Those who couldn't see a thing with all those heads in the way could hear increasing sobbings. Mrs. Nelson approached to calm him down, perhaps take him out of class to talk to him in a private place, away from all those curious eyes. Perhaps the mentioning of football reminded him that he couldn't walk. Oh, yeah, it had to be that. Poor Timmy.

THE END