It didn’t even hurt when Kyle broke his arm. There was a popping noise like opening a can of Coke right as his bike crashed, and then he woke up in the hospital with his dad checking emails in the corner and a bright green cast.
What keeps him up at night is the itching. There’s a place, right below his elbow that he can’t reach. Kyle’s tried everything: pencils, rulers, a bent-up wire hanger, a stick from the yard, but nothing satisfies.
He lies awake at night, imaging the small colony of dead skin growing, colonizing his whole elbow, then working his way down his forearm, up his hand, between his fingers.
When they take off this cast, his arm will molt like a snake.
He’s really looking forward to it.
--by Gena Parsons
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