Mark's Pages

August 7, 2004:

Panic, shock, slack-jaw, wide-eye, horror.

Sharp intake. "What's... that?" Shaking finger points to an upper arm, just below the line of a rolled-up sleeve.

Anger. Count. Breathe. Still the answer flies like spit. "It's a zit."

Panic, shock, slack-jaw, wide-eye, horror.

"It's... A what?"

Count. Breathe. "A zit."

Panic. Befuddlement, horror. "A what?"

Leaning forward into her face. No longer counting. "It... is... a... pim-ple..."

End of conversation. It's obvious what she'd thought it was.

After that I stopped going home.